Princess of Death
by JamJackEvo
Summary: A Hollow attacked her. Ichigo didn't get the chance to save her. But she didn't die, even when her soul was severed from her body. However, the most mysterious event of all was the changes in Orihime, for a dormant power had awakened within her and she was reborn... as a shinigami. IchiHime
1. The Awakening

Date written: 20/03/09 – 24/03/09

Rewrote with Beta: 04/04/09

Posted on FanFiction: 05/04/09

A/N: This is my first Bleach fanfic and I hope the reception is good. Please leave a review after reading. Comments, criticisms, personal thoughts, 'good job' reviews. If you have any questions or inquiries, please PM me and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities.

This idea came to me about two weeks ago, thinking over an idea that instantly popped in my head. It stuck for a few days until I wrote down an unfinished outline of the plot's summary. By then, I've been thinking up some good plot devices and ideas that can move the story along with the characters intertwined in it. It was not easy, but worth it. Her shikai and bankai (_If _it appears) were hard to think up, but I found that it suited her personality, somewhat.

I've read in forums that the character people hate the most has Orihime chosen more than a few times. I can't really understand the reason for that. Yes, Orihime hasn't had any upgrades after acquiring her 'rejection powers that surpasses Fate' hairpins—though I'm pretty sure Kubo will give her one soon. Yes, her character had been a little shallow during the first two arcs, but the makers gave her some character development that showed a much different side than the happy-go-lucky side we've grown accustomed to. And yes, she's hesitant in battle, preferring to save both sides rather than letting them fight each other (I'm still a little puzzled as to why she would help those two arrancar bitches in the Hueco Mundo arc even when they outright beat her up just because her mere presence pisses one of them off). It just shows she hates fighting and thinks that one can resolve a conflict through other means than bloodshed. A pacifist is a likely term for her. But that's just my own opinion, and because of it, I've given this story some more thought in the development of Orihime's character earlier on than in canon. You'll see why; just read the story to find out more.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach at all. So don't bother asking for more of this disclaimer shit._

**Additional info:** This occurs during Episode 3 of the anime when Sora Inoue attacked Orihime and Tatsuki in Orihime's apartment. I'll be modifying a few things here because I don't want this to look like a retelling of the episode.

_**I would like to thank my beta, **__**NocturnalFerri**__**, for doing a tremendous job in beta-ing this chapter. Maraming salamat po.**_

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 1 ---**

**The Awakening**

"Ah! It ripped," Orihime Inoue commented, a little depressed as she held the pink teddy bear that her brother, Sora, gave her when he was still alive. From behind her, her best friend, Tatsuki Arisawa, examined the extent of the rip. They had just finished eating Tatsuki's mother's homemade chicken teriyaki, Orihime's favorite, when the teddy bear fell to the floor from its spot on top of Sora's altar.

"That's one big tear, Orihime," Tatsuki said to the busty teen. "I wonder how it ripped. It's not like it ripped itself, right?"

THUD!

Both girls jumped at the sound. It didn't come from the ceiling, walls, or even the floor. It sounded a lot like a fist hitting something. But it didn't echo from one point. It was heard in every direction.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

"What's going on?" Tatsuki murmured, looking frantically around Orihime's small apartment.

Orihime was feeling the same way as Tatsuki: confused and a little scared. The situation felt like it came from a horror movie from the 80's. Usually her imagination would run wild at this point if the situation were not so dreadful and serious. She knew that there was a time for imagining and a time for worrying, and this was one of those times that she had to worry.

She heard a low _plunk_ sound. Looking down, she saw that the teddy bear's gash was leaking something dark and reeked of a scent she hadn't smelled for so long. She also noticed her hands were wet with this dark liquid. Her eyes widened . . .

_Blood . . ._

CRASH!

A large arm shot out of the teddy bear, piercing through Orihime's body without resistance. For her physical body, the arm was intangible, unable to cause her harm. For her soul, however, it was a different story—it was forcefully ejected out of its vessel. Orihime's soul skidded on the floor until her back connected with the wall behind her. She felt the pain but it almost seemed nonexistent once she saw some_thing_ crawl out of her teddy bear like a snake shedding its old skin to grow a new one. It was probably a natural thing for the monster to slither around like that. It looked half-human, half-snake, after all. Apart from its body, its head alone was almost the size of Orihime's own height. It had black hair that reached its chin, while its face was covered with a white skull mask, enhancing the sorrow dwelling within its crimson red eyes.

"Orihime!" Tatsuki took only one step towards her friend's soulless body before that same monster used its long tail to hit Tatsuki in the shoulder, pushing her to the wall adjacent to Orihime's soul. She was bleeding from the blow. "W—what is this . . .?"

The tail swooped at her again, knocking her out with a hit to the head.

A roar erupted from the snake-like monster as it advanced closer to her. Orihime was scared. Those dreadful red eyes glared at her so intensely that she was close to succumbing to paralysis. She crawled towards the wall where her best friend lay on the floor, unconscious.

"Tatsuki-chan . . ." Orihime checked her friend over quickly and determined that though Tatsuki would have a killer headache when she woke up and was bleeding pretty badly, she would live.

"Orihime . . ." the monster moaned in a throaty voice that sounded very familiar to Orihime. It raised one of its hands, displaying all five fingers with protruding claws that were more than able to cleanly swipe her head off if the monster wished it. "Don't you remember me?"

Orihime shivered in fear, shaking her head left and right. She couldn't get words to form in her mouth but her answer was understood, nonetheless. But this action, however, just seemed to aggravate the monster in front of her.

"I'm sad, Orihime," it said. "Very sad. Have you forgotten me already? Have you?!"

Orihime gasped as the outstretched arm of the monster swept from its back, aiming towards her shaking form. She closed her eyes instinctively, thinking that it was the end for her. But instead of feeling claws tearing against her flesh and the hot feeling of pain searing through her body, she heard a clash of steel and a grunt in front of her. She opened her eyes and saw black and orange.

The figure clicked his tongue after blocking the monster's claws with his oversized sword. "Your target is me! Leave her out of this!" he screamed, and pushed the monster away, severing its left hand in the process.

The shock of seeing the man she admired (and was most obviously crushing on) must've rejuvenated her voice box because she was able to say his name, "Kurosaki-kun?"

* * *

Ichigo Kurosaki was quite livid. It wasn't because his room got trashed earlier by a Hollow, nor was it because Rukia Kuchiki had nagged him about getting to Orihime's place quickly the entire way they ran there. No, it was because the Hollow was Orihime's deceased brother, Sora, who decided to kill her if he couldn't get to Ichigo. To make matters even worse, Tatsuki just happened to visit Inoue today and got caught in the crossfire. Looking at her from where he stood, he knew that the wound she had on her shoulder wasn't fatal but it still needed to be treated lest she dies of blood loss. He saw Orihime's body lying in the center of the room, her grey eyes glazed and open wide.

"Inoue . . ."

"Kurosaki-kun?"

He turned his head towards that familiar voice and his eyes widened at her. "Inoue?"

"Ah, it _is_ Kurosaki-kun. But . . . what are you doing here?"

"You—you can see me?"

"Eh?"

_Rukia said that only other spirits can see me while I'm a shinigami, so that means . . ._ He looked back at her soulless body, then returned his gaze at her soul. He noticed the chain that trailed from somewhere in the girl's body to the chest of the girl's soul. _No . . ._

"That's right," the Hollow's gruff voice stated. "The reason why Orihime can see you is because she is now a soul. In other words, Orihime is now DEAD!"

The Hollow swiped its tail at him, but he blocked it with ease, even though it was a little difficult to swing around the goliath of a katana he was wielding. But beggars can't be choosers. Making the most of what he had, he took the initiative and breached the Hollow's defenses, more than ready to begin striking his strongest attack. He charged straight with a battle cry—

"Idiot! Get back!" Rukia shouted as she entered the room through the door.

—but the attack did not connect. He was instead hit in the side by the Hollow's good hand, propelling him through the apartment wall, creating a big hole that's the size of his torso. Using his limited knowledge of his shinigami abilities, he skidded his feet on air which slowed him down considerably from the blow's kinetic force. Ichigo couldn't take a breather because the Hollow was already in front of him with its tail descending upon him.

He grunted as the tail's blow hit him square on the head, subsequently ending his floating-on-air trick and hit the street's pavement almost strong enough to crack his head like an egg. The Hollow watched near the wall, while Ichigo had a great fall.

Ichigo blamed the blow for his mind to dwell with the corny parallelism of his situation with an old nursery rhyme. But time for thinking was over now; the Hollow slithered down to the street, as he rubbed his head in pain.

"Ichigo!" Rukia cried from the hole in the apartment wall, looking down at him with worry.

"Shut up," he muttered, and stood back up although a bit groggily. His vision was a little blurry from blood loss, noticeable as the blood from his forehead trickled down to the bridge of his nose. He had to wipe the blood away before it got to his eyebrows and dripped down to his eyes. This was bad. Even Ichigo knew that. He wasn't fully prepared to take on a Hollow as powerful as this one. It wasn't as mindless as all the other Hollows he had 'purified' during his time as a substitute shinigami—though he had nothing to really boast about or present as good evidence because he only defeated two Hollows so far. But he knew that two was enough to gauge the difference in power and logic. The two previous Hollows were both powerhouses, mindless subordinates who didn't seem to really give a damn how much they got hurt as long as their prey would eventually enter their stomachs. Hollow Sora seemed to be in an entirely different level from the two. It was able to predict Ichigo's movements after only seeing him swing his sword for a straightforward attack once. It was the only thing Ichigo was good for, since he had no Kendo training experience to base his style on. Hollow Sora anticipated his movements with strategic thinking that didn't seem to fit with the idea of a Hollow being a soul's animalistic instincts. Not only that, it knew when to retreat to regenerate its partially lost mask when Ichigo fought it earlier tonight. The first Hollow he ever fought wasn't the survival-of-the-fittest type because it still tried to eat him and his family even after Ichigo cut down both of its upper limbs; that Hollow looked like it didn't even know the meaning of 'retreat' at all.

In short, his enemy was no ordinary Hollow.

. . . or maybe it's just an ordinary Hollow with its 'survival instincts' still intact. That might explain quite a lot of the unusualness of it.

"Watch out! Above you!" Rukia yelled.

Ichigo reacted quickly from the voice, and dodged, swerving the whole momentum of his body to the left. A giant tail swatted the place where he had been, causing a small crater that sprayed rocky debris and smoke near him.

"It's you," the Hollow said, "it's all because of you. It's because of you that Orihime is now dead!"

It attacked again, using its mouth this time. Ichigo blocked it but the equal power of their strengths had pinned them into a deadlock. His arms quivered from the pressure. Knowing that he can't keep this stalemate for too long, he tried to push Hollow Sora back like before, but it anticipated that and immediately reacted by using its good hand, claws out, to scratch the shinigami.

Ichigo screamed and got thrown a few yards away. He tried standing back up but his knees gave out before he was halfway there. He used his zanpakuto (Soul cutter) as a sort of cane to keep his body from falling completely to the ground like a KO'd boxer. He took staggering breaths as he examined the extent of his injuries.

Four scratch marks. All of them were deep and blood dripped from the wounds like leaking broken pipes. His vision was blurrier now to the point that he couldn't clearly see the Hollow eight yards away. This was bad. He had to end the fight quickly before he lost consciousness.

The Hollow let out a roar before charging at him again. By then, Ichigo can only see a shimmering outline of the Hollow as if his vision was made out of water with strong ripples disturbing the stillness of its surface. He knew he was out of breath and the strength in his arms was not to par in his present state. Still, he got back to his stance, ready to intercept the attack.

But the attack never came. Instead of seeing black and white, what Ichigo saw in his drunkard vision was the back of a person with orange hair.

* * *

Orihime jumped in front of Ichigo just as the monster was about to bite him. The monster hesitated then stopped altogether when she stood tall, her arms extended to her sides as if she was some human barricade. It took a while for her mind to get a grasp of the strange situation but at least she made it in time before Ichigo could get hurt. Well, get even more hurt actually.

She had been watching the fight from her second-floor apartment via the big hole in the wall. When she noticed the new transfer student (Rukia Kuchiki, she remembered her name being) standing beside her with her eyes glued on the same spot as she did, she wondered if Kuchiki-san could see them as well.

Orihime wanted to be sure, wanted to know if this wasn't all just some nightmare (though she wished it really was), and she thought that the girl in yellow pajamas looking at the invisible fight knew more about the situation than she did. All Orihime knew was that her soul was removed from her body—did that mean she's dead?—and judging by the expression on Ichigo's face earlier when she called out to him, he must be a soul as well. But why, that was something she couldn't answer.

For as long as Orihime can remember, she had had the unusual ability to see ghosts. She kept it a secret from everyone, even from Sora and Tatsuki. The latter wouldn't believe her anyway, so it was best to keep her lips sealed. It didn't really interfere much in her life, except maybe for the occasional ghosts wanting her help (and how could she refuse?). It wasn't until she turned nine that she could identify spirits from the living. And when she went to her first day of high school, one of the boys in her class intrigued her. Their first meeting had a bit of a bad start—him scowling all the time and her fidgeting like a stuttering idiot with no coherent thought in what she was trying to say. She couldn't help herself for that. There was just something very intimidating about the boy with orange hair as bright as hers (she later found out it was natural, just like hers), and it was not because of the scowl or the gangster kind of air he seemed to radiate. It was some sort of 'pressure.' That was as far as she could describe the intimidation. But after a few months, she got used to it. She guessed it was just how Ichigo Kurosaki was like.

And now, that same 'pressure' of intimidation was pouring out of Ichigo like running water. It took Orihime a bit of time to regain her breath from the staggering dread she felt grind through her bones (Do souls even _have_ bones? Soul bones?). She may have been an airhead and a ditz at times, but she didn't become a top-ranking student for nothing. Even the state of panic she was in now, she understood that the 'pressure' she had felt whenever she was around Ichigo was not because she had a crush on him (she used her "Woman's Intuition" for this claim, but that didn't stop her from liking him for a different reason, unbeknownst to her) but because he was _this fighting soul_. And she may have had the right mind to be intimidated. The power coming out of the boy was staggering and inhuman.

But it seemed like he was new to his powers—which put her 'invisible superhero' theory in the wastebasket—and she saw that most of his moves were unrefined and hesitant. It was like he was contradicting himself: he wanted to defeat the monster; he didn't want to defeat the monster. And in that hesitation and lack of skills in swordplay, he was easily matched by the monster even if it had to use only one hand to do it.

When she saw him almost slump to the ground with only his giant sword to support him, all fear and rational thought went out of the door. She only thought of Ichigo's safety, fully discarding her own.

"Hey wait!" she heard Rukia yell at her, but she didn't listen. It was dangerous to jump from the second floor but she didn't care. If she were to hesitate like Ichigo, then it might be too late.

Now that she was facing the monster unarmed, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't thought this far, it seemed. She was just going along and acting out on the spur of the moment. An airhead, through and through.

"Inoue," she heard Ichigo murmur in a throaty voice, as if his tug-of-war between consciousness and sleep was coming to an end with the latter slowly edging itself for the win. "What're you doing? Get out of here!"

She shook her head furiously. "No," she said to him, "I won't."

"Don't be a fool. You'll just get hurt."

"I don't care! I just can't stand around and do nothing." _And see you get hurt . . ._

"Orihime," the monster moaned, pure anger radiating from its crimson red eyes. "You would rather help _him_ than me? The one who raised you alone; the one who gave everything just to make you happy?"

Orihime looked deep into the monster's eyes and found the true color buried inside its crimson orbs. She knew those eyes, remembered them. Through sadness, through happiness, throughout her life, she had seen those eyes in another person. There was no mistaking it. But . . .

"Onii . . . –chan?"

"Yes, you remember now. Now move out of the way."

"W—why?" Her disbelief came from knowing this was her deceased brother. And knowing that he had hurt Tatsuki and Ichigo. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why? You're asking why?!" He grabbed her whole body with his hand and squeezed tightly enough to knock the breath out of her. "I did this because of you, Orihime! I was lonely. So very lonely. I finally found the opportunity to come back to you . . . _and this is what I return to?!_ Never! Never again will I tolerate you bonding with these worthless bugs! You're mine, Orihime. MINE!"

She gasped at the tightness of the monster's grip on her body. She was being cracked open like a nut getting crushed by a nutcracker. Her breath grew ragged and she couldn't inhale enough air. This wasn't like her brother at all. He may have been Sora under that mask but the monster was no longer her brother. The comforting and caring brother she had known all her life was already gone; what returned was nothing but an illusion of him. But illusion or not, its intent to kill her was clear.

"HAH!!!" The battle cry was full of strength. Ichigo brought his blade down and cut the monster's hand with preciseness. The severed hand lost its vise-like grip and let go of the almost crushed form of Orihime, letting her drop unceremoniously on the pavement.

The monster screamed in pain and retreated into a portal, leaving only the two of them in the empty street.

"DAMN!" Ichigo cursed. Orihime guessed that he was annoyed that he let the monster escape. He then turned to look at her intently. "Are you all right?"

Maybe it was the doctor's son part of him that compelled him to crouch besides her and move his face closer to her face to make sure she was okay. Orihime blushed involuntarily and it took all her willpower not to squeal or panic like some deranged fan-girl. She was about to reply but her lungs still felt compressed and she had to let out a few coughs for trying to force herself into speaking. Naturally Ichigo rubbed her back comfortingly, instigating a shiver to course through her spine. _He's touching me! He's touching me! Kurosaki-kun's really touching me!_

Breathing as deeply and as slowly as she could, she said that she was fine, prompting him to give a nod of acknowledgment.

But it was far from over . . .

"Ichigo!" Rukia jumped from the second-floor hole, landed on the ground with grace, and ran full speed to where the two were. "Are you all right, Ichigo?"

"Yeah, this is nothing," he replied. And his wound chose that moment to bleed again.

"You idiot! Look at you! You're hurt."

"I said this is nothing." He then widened his eyes a bit. "Rukia, how's Tatsuki?"

"Don't worry. I already healed her. I am quite proud in my healing skills."

He sighed in relief. "That's good."

"Kurosaki-kun." Both heads turned to her as she made her presence known to them. "Why did that monster look like Onii-chan?"

At this, Ichigo looked away, a sense of hurt present in his eyes. "Inoue . . . that was—"

"ORIHIME!" The monster returned, catching all three of them by surprise as the portal it used to escape appeared beside them.

Rukia and Ichigo were swept away by the large tail, sending them straight into the wall to Orihime's left. Orihime felt two giant hands grasp her body then lift her up to face the white mask of the monster. She was afraid, dead afraid. She wanted to scream for help, get away from it as far as possible, but its grip on her was too strong, causing her lungs to compress again; there was just no way for her to scream now. The pain was excruciating; she didn't know she could feel this much pain without even screaming. But the rest of her body demanded some sort of release from this nightmare. Her vision turned white as her consciousness began to fade.

_**. . . lis . . . ome . . . will help . . .**_

Voices in her head, low and distorted. Was she going mad from the pain?

_**. . . come . . . elp you . . .**_

"Orihime!" the monster shouted, "if I can't have you then I will make sure _no one will_!"

The monster poked its head-sized thumb at her face. It pushed her chin upwards, giving the thumb a perfect opportunity in crushing her petite throat. She couldn't breathe . . .

The white light was vastly approaching, consuming the remnants of her vision as reality faded from her grasp. The pain was still there but it gradually lessened as the whiteness overtook almost every ounce of her consciousness. It wouldn't be long now . . .

_**Come, child . . . come . . .**_

* * *

Ichigo cursed as he tried to push the tail away but found it to be a futile attempt. He felt like a prisoner being tied up while the executioner was getting ready to guillotine his friend. Besides him was Rukia, who was struggling like he was in their restraints. What made the situation even worse was that he accidentally let go of his zanpakuto and it now lay on the pavement several feet away from where he was. "Rukia, can't you do something?" he asked his companion in their makeshift prison.

"I'm doing the best I can here!" she snapped at him. "We need to get out of here before that Hollow kills Inoue-san."

"She's not dead?" Ichigo couldn't hold his surprise and relief.

"Not yet, anyway. What happened to her is what you humans call 'yuutairidatsu' ('out-of-body experience'). But if her chain of fate were to be completely cut off, then she'd die."

Ichigo steeled his eyes and said, "Then we have to save her now!"

"Just give me a second. I'll get us out of here."

She began chanting one of her kidou spells and Ichigo struggled to get out of his restraints. He doubled his efforts when he saw the Hollow choking his captive.

"Now!" Rukia shouted as a blast of energy pushed the tail away from them.

Using the surface of the wall as a base of momentum, Ichigo kicked it with both feet. It was like jumping horizontally rather than vertically, and with his shinigami powers, his jumps were higher and longer. He directed his jump towards his zanpakuto and the Hollow. His senses were also heightened, so it was fairly easy to grab the zanpakuto from the ground as he swept the air like a bullet.

"LET HER GO!" he yelled as he directed his newly regained zanpakuto's blade to the Hollow's head. One swift move to the head. That was all he needed to kill it. All he needed to kill—

"You idiot! Why are you hesitating?!"

The Hollow reacted quickly and swatted Ichigo like a fly. He was tossed away again like some abused ragdoll and skidded near Rukia.

"That's no ordinary Hollow," he heard Rukia state before he rose back up again.

"INOUE!" he shouted as he readied his freakishly huge sword for another frontal assault.

"Wait, Ichigo!"

Ichigo stopped momentarily to glare at the raven-haired girl but didn't follow her request. When he ended his glare and turned his back to her, he continued his sprint at the Hollow. "LET HER GO!" he yelled again.

"If I can't have her . . . If I can't have her . . ." The Hollow grabbed Orihime's chain of fate—"Then no one will!"—and tore it out of her chest.

Orihime screamed from the pain. Tears formed in her eyes as she shouted "It hurts! It hurts!" over and over. She wrapped her arms around herself when the Hollow loosened its grip and gave enough room for her to do so.

"No . . ." Ichigo skidded to a halt as he realized what happened. Orihime's chain of fate had been severed. She was now dead. "No . . ." He lowered his head, shadowing the expression of his face. His grip on the zanpakuto tightened, shaking with too much applied force. He asked himself, _Why? Why did she have to die?_ Orihime had nothing to do with his duties as a shinigami nor did she have any involvement with Hollows that were on rampage. He wanted to protect the people he can, yet . . . _Why couldn't I save her?_ He felt like a fool. If this was as far as his powers can go, then what good was he if he can't stay true to his word? But . . . his thoughts didn't linger in his self-loathing long. Someone had to pay for Orihime's death. When he raised his head again, his eyes looked like they were ready for murder. "You . . ." he growled, sheer anger pulsating out of his reiatsu (spirit pressure). If reiatsu was like the magma inside volcanoes, then Ichigo's anger-induced reiatsu would be like the infamous 1883 eruption of Krakatoa.

"Rukia," he hissed with his gritted teeth, barely able to control his urge to kill that monster _now_. He felt her come near him moments after the Hollow tore off Orihime's chain of fate. "Is there any way for you to repair the chain?"

He knew it was futile to hope. Fate wasn't always fair. While his gaze was rooted at the Hollow in front of him, he somehow knew Rukia shook her head at his question.

"No," she answered solemnly, "once the connection is destroyed, it can no longer be repaired."

"I see . . . then I want you to do something for me." He looked at her with his anger-filled eyes, and saw her take a step back in response to his deeper scowl. "Do not stop me."

With that said, he rushed towards his opponent at lightning speed. If he stuck around to hear Rukia's surprised outburst, he would've heard her say "What the—? He's using shunpo (flash step)?!"

Any other thoughts were irrelevant to Ichigo at the moment. All he had at the front of his mind was his sword, his enemy, and the blank stare he saw in Orihime's gray eyes . . .

* * *

_**Come now, child . . . come . . . it is time . . .**_

_Wha . . .? Who's there?_

_**Do not be afraid, princess. I am not here to hurt you.**_

_Princess? Who—who are you?_

The voice chuckled. _**You, child. I am you.**_

_Eh? But if you're me and I'm me, then . . . who am I?_

The voice chuckled some more. It was feminine and quite lovely to hear. It was like listening to the laughter of a woman with noble conduct; the way they move their hand near their lips as they giggled in a cute sort of way.

_Wait . . . where am I?_

_**You're in my realm, child. Quick, open your eyes and see the truth.**_

Orihime slowly opened her eyes and found herself in a forest of blooming sakura trees. The sky was bluer than any other times she'd seen it before; it almost looked purer and absent of any dirt and corruption. As her senses fully returned, she found herself lying on soft ground, right in the shade of one of the bigger sakura trees, as the sun shone down with a brilliant light that accentuated the beauty of the cherry blossoms fluttering in the air. It was like a dance of beauty that intoxicated Orihime, hypnotizing her with awe.

"You've finally woken," she heard someone say from behind her. Instinctively, she looked over her shoulder and saw a person sitting on a bench, looking out beyond a cliff's edge. The person was definitely feminine, if the voice wasn't enough of a hint to tell. Her back was to Orihime, and the red parasol she had over her right shoulder was opened to protect her from the rays of the sun. It blocked Orihime's view of the woman's head and upper torso.

Orihime was left speechless as she moved to a sitting position from where she was—just a yard behind the woman with the parasol. The woman was wearing a red kimono and black sandals; the lower part of the kimono was loose and Orihime saw white, slender legs that were meant to be hidden. Though her face was obscured by the parasol, Orihime somehow knew that the woman was very beautiful.

"Who are you?" Orihime asked.

The woman did not make any movement to turn and look at her directly. She instead kept her stare at the view from the cliff whose edge was protected by red wooden handrails that were around three feet in height. "I've been with you since your birth, child," she said. "My name is A . . ."

"Your name is . . ?"

"A . . ."

Orihime couldn't hear the rest. It was as if the woman's voice muted right when she was about to say the rest of her name. But at least she understood that the first syllable was 'A' and it was accented and pronounced like 'f_a_ther.'

"I see," the woman spoke in a grave tone. "You are not yet worthy to hear my name."

"I'm sorry," Orihime said.

"Why should you be sorry, child? I only said that you are not _yet_ worthy to hear my name. But that did not mean I will deprive you of your birthright."

"My—my birthright?"

"Yes, child. As we speak, your male friend is out there fighting your brother's Hollow and failing."

"Kurosaki-kun? Hollow? Kurosaki-kun is fighting that monster?!" Orihime widened her eyes. "Oh no! I have to help him."

"May I ask, child, what can you do?"

Orihime stopped herself from standing up and instead stared at the woman's back. She saw her twirl her parasol a bit.

"You do not possess extraordinary abilities like your friend. If he cannot defeat this enemy, then how can you, a simple human, be able to defeat it?"

Orihime didn't know how to answer that properly. All she knew was that if she didn't help Ichigo, he might end up dead. And she didn't want that to happen. She'd rather be the one to die than let that happen. "I don't know," she said at last. "But even if I don't know how to do it, I still want to help him."

"You still want to save this male, even though you are risking your own life for his?"

"Yes," she answered with determination. "Even if I were to die, even if I am just a hindrance and my attempts are all for nothing, I don't want to feel like I've done nothing to help Kurosaki-kun."

"You love him?"

She didn't need to answer. It was as if the woman was reading her like an open book. And her question was more like a statement of truth than an inquiry. In this situation, the natural thing to do would be to blush and Orihime did exactly that, though a little more controlled since there were other issues that needed to be resolved right away.

"I can help you, Orihime," the woman said to her, still not moving from her seat overlooking the cliff. Orihime saw that the land below was shrouded in a dark gray fog, almost thinking that it was a sea of gray water.

"How?"

Orihime somehow felt that the woman was smiling behind the parasol. "Someone once told me that 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'" The woman moved her left hand to her side, urging Orihime to take it in hers. "Are you ready to take that road, child? Once you grab my hand and accept my power, your heritage, then there is no turning back."

"Will I be able to help Kurosaki-kun?"

"Yes, indeed."

Orihime needed no other urging. She stood up, walked towards the woman, and intertwined her hand in hers. And as her fingers enveloped the slim fingers of the woman, she felt sleep coming upon her again.

_**Sleep well, child. Everything will be all right . . .**_

_**Everything will definitely be all right!**_The voice was menacing.

* * *

Ichigo was slammed to the wall again. Even Rukia was looking worse for wear as she gazed at the monstrosity that didn't seem to even have a scratch on him. It regenerated too fast for his pace, so he should end its rampage before it could escape into another portal to heal its wounds again. With all the chaos in his mind, Ichigo almost did not realize that the Hollow was getting stronger. Rukia took note of his observation and admitted the strangeness as well. This wasn't an ordinary Hollow; both of them saw that for a while, but now they could back their claim up if anyone said otherwise.

But the question remaining was if they could defeat it or not. Orihime was still in the Hollow's hand and it didn't want to let go of her anytime soon.

Suddenly, Ichigo saw a flash of light coming from the Hollow's hand where Orihime was clasped tightly. "Inoue . . ." The light brightened significantly, urging him to cover his eyes with his forearm. He grunted and looked away.

He heard the Hollow growl then scream in intense pain. When the light dissipated, Ichigo looked back to see a sight that made his jaw drop.

Orihime was clad in a black kimono with a three-foot long katana strapped to her waist. But that was only the appetizer. What really made Ichigo's (and, to some extent, Rukia's) jaw drop were the Hollow's two severed fingers, the thumb and the forefinger, she held in each hand. By their size, they could pass off as black clubs, if not for the sprouting blood shooting out of the open veins. He saw the Hollow charge at her and would've went to intervene, but Orihime beat him to it. She threw both fingers towards the Hollow; one of them stabbed it in the eye, leaving a grotesque image of a person screaming in pain while the claw gnawed at his right eye; the other, the thumb, was thrown so powerfully that it managed to tear off a quarter of the Hollow's mask.

Following its instincts, the Hollow retreated.

"Inoue?" Ichigo asked uncertainly. He was still in shock at what occurred that it took a while to realize that Orihime was wearing a shinigami uniform. "Wha—what the hell?" But that was not all he saw. He also saw a different smile—a seductive smile—on her face and also her eyes . . .

They weren't gray anymore. They were chocolate brown.

"Hey, cutie," she said to him, placing both of her hands on her hips, winking seductively at him.

She was definitely not Orihime anymore . . .


	2. Death's Birth

Date written: 25/03/09 – 27/03/09

Rewrote with Beta: 06/04/09

Posted on FanFiction: 07/04/09

A/N: Wow, just the first chapter and already 5 reviews. Thanks to those who reviewed, and here's the next chapter. It's not as long as the first one and this is the normal length for the rest of the chapters in the story. Again, if you have any questions or inquiries, just PM me and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities.

**_I would again like to thank NocturnalFerri for a thorough job in betareading this chapter. Salamit uli po._**

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 2 ---**

**Death's Birth**

Orihime walked towards Ichigo, swaying her hips as if she were some fashion model. When she got close him, she rested her right hand on his left cheek, and then softly caressed it with care.

"I—Inoue?" Ichigo couldn't help but blush at the contact. The Orihime he was seeing now was seductive, confident, and held such a different kind of air around her that you'd think she was actually Orihime's long lost twin. Or a separate personality.

"Yes, cutie?" Her chocolate brown eyes were half-closed, inviting him to come closer. Ichigo felt like he was being led into a dark tunnel where on each end would be this woman, rubbing his jaw like she was petting it to make him comfortable with her. And at the same time, he felt his energy drain from his body. When he noticed his predicament, the woman only smiled some more as she craned her neck a bit like she was being given a really good massage. "You're quite delicious, you know."

Ichigo would've almost fallen into that abysmal place and succumbed to whatever power she had if not for Rukia's swiping at Orihime's hand. The woman lost contact with his skin as well as the supposed 'spell' she must have put on him. It was the only explanation Ichigo can think of at the moment. Her sensual attempt in making him defenseless and the way she had sucked a bit of his reiatsu reminded Ichigo of succubi. If anything, a succubus was a definite word to describe the woman. She was not Inoue at all.

"Who are you?" Rukia asked the question Ichigo was about to ask.

The woman put her hands on her hips and plainly said, "I am Orihime Inoue, of course."

"No," Ichigo said evenly, "you're not Inoue."

The woman smiled again at him, but without anything seductive behind it this time, as if the situation was amusing to her. "You are right and wrong at the same time, I guess," she said, causing both to be on their guard while getting confused as well. "I am Orihime, but I am also not her, too."

"Don't speak in riddles," Rukia said. "We don't have the time or patience for it."

"My, my, such spirit." Orihime giggled, almost sounding like her normal self. "All right, I'll get right to the point."

When she grabbed her katana, Ichigo tightened his grip on his own, readying himself for any sudden attacks the woman would launch their way. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rukia tense up as well.

"Do not worry," Orihime said, "I will not do anything suspicious." She presented the katana to them with its sheath still firmly in place. "I am only showing you this. Kuchiki-san, you _do_ know what this is, right?"

Rukia peered closer to make sure. "A zanpakuto . . .? Impossible!"

"I assure you, Kuchiki-san, that it is real. I will even give you a demonstration."

"A demonstration?"

When the words left Rukia's mouth, a mighty roar and a sudden spark of reiatsu alerted the two of the Hollow they had battled earlier. It came from above, falling freely with its mouth wide open as if to swallow them whole like an actual snake.

Ichigo would have swung his sword to protect all three of them, but Orihime did not give him the time to do so. Before either of the two could blink, Orihime flash-stepped towards the Hollow and sent a powerful blow to its left cheek with her sword's sheath. The Hollow was hurled away and fell to the ground, crashing into a small crater. Orihime stepped on air as if it was second nature to her, which prompted Ichigo to question how strong she was. It took him nearly four whole hours just to learn how to levitate but Orihime was standing tall and balanced like she was actually walking on solid ground and not just air.

He watched as Orihime disappeared again in a flash. He shifted his gaze to the Hollow rising from the crater down the street. Orihime appeared at the left side of the street near the wall; even from where he stood he could see that she was smiling in glee.

"Rukia, what's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know. But somehow . . . Inoue-san is now a shinigami."

"But how's that possible?" He looked away from the battle to face the short woman with his glare. "Inoue is human. She never displayed any kind of power like this before. So how—"

"I do not know," she interrupted; her tone was not to be taken lightly. She was damn serious now. "There had been a sudden rise in her reiatsu when she transformed. You felt it, too, right?"

He nodded.

"I don't know what exactly is going on but if we don't suppress her reiatsu, Soul Society may intervene."

"What do you mean?"

"How else do you think I was able to track down a Hollow's location?" She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed at the deadlock between Orihime's sheath and the Hollow's teeth. "Hollow's create a sudden spark with their spirit energy. Hollow's are usually easy to detect due to that spark, and Soul Society will be warned of the Hollow's presence, so a shinigami is stationed to a district where they can disperse the situation with minimal damage in the human world. Now if there happened to be a tremendous rise in spirit energy in one particular place, a rise large enough to be proclaimed too difficult for one shinigami representative of the district to handle, what do you think Soul Society will do?"

"Send in reinforcements," he answered with his eyes glued to the ground.

"Correct. Not only will they kill the Hollow, they'll question me about you and Orihime. And when Soul Society learns that not one but two human souls have become shinigami—one because a shinigami transferred her powers to a human, and another because of unknown causes—it would cause uproar there. And that's one thing I plan on avoiding."

Rukia didn't say it, but Ichigo knew that whatever she did to him was considered illegal in that Soul Society place. She was safe for the time being as long as she stayed in the real world while he did her work for her. When she finally regained a bit of her power, she can return to Soul Society and his life as a normal—normal as he could be, that is—high school student. And no one up there would have to find out.

But Orihime may be another case entirely. Not only did she look and feel different from the Orihime he was accustomed to, she was fighting the Hollow without getting a scratch. He watched as the two pushed each other away from a deadlock and resumed attacking again, and she was still using only her sheath. Ichigo was certain that this seductive Orihime was only playing around. He wanted to step in, get the fighting to the next level and get rid of the Hollow as fast as possible. But something told him not to do anything. Just let things play out as they are and wait for things to be over.

Rukia opened her cell phone and checked some readings in it. "We have about three minutes before Soul Society brings in reinforcement. We need to defeat the Hollow and suppress Inoue-san's reiatsu within that limited time."

"Easier said than done," Ichigo said. Gripping the sword with stronger intent, he dashed towards the fight, fully ignoring the instincts that told him not to do anything.

But before he could come close to getting into a fight again (his wounds are still open, and he lost a lot of blood; it's a small wonder he can still stand without a hint of exhaustion), Orihime flash-stepped in front of him with her back facing him.

"Inoue—"

"Stop," she interrupted. "I'll end this now, seeing that's what you want. Am I right?"

His grip on his zanpakuto loosened but he kept his eyes on the Hollow advancing towards them.

"ORIHIME!" it shouted. Enraged. Beaten. Desperate. Only eight feet away from its prey.

Orihime pushed the guard of her katana up with her thumb, unsheathing an inch of the blade hidden within the scabbard. When her right hand grabbed the hilt of the katana, there was a sudden flash of light, a flicker, and a faint change of the wind's direction. All of it occurred in less than two seconds but Ichigo didn't even see the blade come completely out of its sheath before it had done its job and Orihime sheathed it again. The damage was astounding, though.

The Hollow roared "ORIHIME!!!" one final time before its mask was completely destroyed.

As he and Orihime watched the Hollow of Orihime's brother disintegrate into the next life, Ichigo heard her whisper, "Have a safe trip, Onii-chan."

The unmasked Hollow—no, it was just Sora now—replied, "Yeah. Itekimasu (I'm going)."

When Ichigo looked closer at Orihime, she was smiling happily as if a large weight had disappeared from her shoulders. She looked at him with tired eyes—_gray, they're gray again_—and said, "I'm glad you're safe, Kurosaki-kun."

She passed out soon after.

* * *

Orihime groaned when a painful headache shot through her peaceful sleeping. She opened her eyes and saw two figures arguing a few paces away in hushed tones as if she was still asleep. Her mind took a second longer to recognize the two bickerers and connected the reason why they were in her apartment. As quick as lightning the memories went back into the forefront of her mind, and she was assaulted with another shot of pain in her head when she tried to sit up.

Her discomfort remained unnoticed by Ichigo and Rukia, who were arguing over things her mind can't really comprehend until her head's aching episode dissipated. But at least it gave her time to think on her own.

Ichigo and Rukia seemed all right, so that must mean that the monster (Hollow, she remembered the red kimono woman calling it) was gone. But how? She remembered accepting the kimono woman's offering of power and suddenly feeling her consciousness waning as if her energy was being drained out of her body. And after that . . . was nothing. She remembered seeing the image of a magnificent golden sword and her brother saying goodbye to her, but that was it. Nothing else came to mind.

But something had changed inside her; she was sure of it. Though she was sure she was back in her body, it felt different. It was like something dormant that was hidden within her had finally arisen, granting her a gift that was beyond human recognition. Orihime didn't know why but she felt like she made a pact with the Devil, condemning her soul to Hell once the payment was due, all for the sake of one person's life. But she didn't regret her decision. If anything, she'd do it again just for him.

_**Such dedication, child.**_

Orihime stifled a gasp. That voice . . .

_**Do not fret, child, this is only temporary. Soon I'll be consumed within the blade you possess and will only awaken once you shout out my name.**_

_But I don't know your name, madam._

She heard her giggle inside her head. It was kind of weird, listening to someone else's voice laughing inside your mind.

_**You will, child. In time. In time, indeed.**_

_I don't understand. What happened? Who are you, really? And . . . what's happening to me? What _am_ I?_

_**I can't answer that, child. I would be breaking the oath I made with Sora if I did.**_

_You knew my brother?_

_**. . .**_

_Please tell me, what involvement do you have with my brother?!_

_**. . . I have said too much. Ask your friends about what happened. I won't say anymore.**_

_Why?! Why won't you tell me?!_

_**. . .**_

_WHY?!_

_**. . . **_

Orihime felt a rush of energy inside her, engulfing her very soul before embedding itself into her very self. That red kimono woman was vague during their conversation about certain things but Orihime was certain that she could no longer communicate with the person until she figured out her name. But how would she know something like that? Recalling her first meeting, the woman said that she was not yet worthy to know her name. So all she needed to do was become worthy to call upon her again, right? That woman knew something about her brother (and possibly even why he became a Hollow) and she intended to find out what it was.

But first things first, she needed to wake up. Slowly opening her eyes again, she voluntarily groaned loudly to catch the attention of the bickering duo. Her plan worked and the two of them rushed to nurse her—well, Rukia did; Ichigo was just sitting Indian-style beside her with his arms crossed. Though he did have that bit of concern in his eyes, reserved only when he's quite concerned about something. Or to be more precise, some_one_.

Orihime inwardly blushed.

"Inoue-san, I'm glad you're awake," Rukia said as she removed the wet cloth from the girl's forehead. "Excuse us for intruding your home on such short notice but we have more pressing matters to discuss."

Orihime nodded, understanding what she was going on about. "What about Tatsuki-chan? Is she all right?" Rukia pointed to the futon next to her and she saw Tatsuki sleeping soundly under its blanket.

"Most of her wounds are healed, though she will experience some phantom pains when she wakes up. But she won't remember anything that happened tonight."

"Eh? Why?"

"I modified her memories. There's a reason why what happened tonight is top secret."

Orihime, being the very imaginative one, thought of a lot of things, and inadvertently unleashed one of her thinking-out-loud moments to the two. "Maybe Kuchiki-san is one of those MIB people who fight interdimensional monsters instead of aliens. Oh! And Kurosaki-kun must be a new recruit of the secret organization and this was his initiation. Because it didn't end well, and only Tatsuki-chan's memories had been modified—oooohh! It's _just like_ the Men In Black!—that means that the organization is thinking of letting me join their ranks. Wow! That would be so cool . . ."

Rukia turned to Ichigo and said flatly, "Is she always like this?"

Ichigo nodded. "Yeah. Keigo once told me that she's like a more mature version of 'Fuko Ibuki.'" He then added, "Don't ask me _who_ that is because I don't really care about Keigo's opinions anyway. Most of them freakin' piss me off to no end."

"What's with the euphoric look she has?" She eyed Orihime's red cheeks, dreamy-looking eyes, open-mouthed smile, and her head titled to the right.

"Who knows?" he said while shrugging his shoulders. "It'll pass, though."

But Rukia didn't like to wait. "Inoue-san," she called. "Inoue-san, please listen to what I have to say."

Her words broke Orihime out of her reverie and she began to listen attentively to the raven-haired woman.

"Inoue-san, do you know what happened to you when the Hollow gotten a hold of you?"

Orihime shook her head negatively. "I blacked out when the Hollow broke the chain on my chest." She rubbed a hand at the spot between her breasts where her chain of fate had once been. She didn't see Ichigo stare at her hands and . . . 'assets' while she rubbed the former between the latter, however. But she _did_ see him look away with a bit of a blush adorning his cheeks. "I only remember pain. Lots and lots of pain. I thought I was going to die."

"You did die," Rukia said callously.

"Rukia!" Ichigo exclaimed. "You should've told her more sensitively than that."

"I don't like sugar-coating when the situation is dire, Ichigo. You should know that."

Ichigo stared directly at Rukia as she showed him her unemotional eyes again. He wasn't backing down at all. "Even so," he said, "this situation is not bad enough to just say out of the blue that Inoue died. Besides, if she _is_ dead then shouldn't she be sent to Soul Society?"

"Are you really such an idiot that your mind didn't comprehend what transpired during the past hour?"

"Uh . . ."

"Do my big words burst your little brain, Ichigo no baka (Idiot Ichigo)?"

A vein popped on Ichigo's forehead. "W—why you . . ."

"Then let me spit it out for you. Orihime is now a shinigami."

Ichigo quieted, but Orihime was more intrigued than confused at what Rukia said. "Eh? Me, a shinigami?" She pointed at her nose. "But—but how?"

"That, I do not know." She then murmured, "First, a human that can see ghosts and took all of my powers. Now, a human has mysteriously turned into a shinigami. What's next? Hollows becoming shinigami?"

"Kuchiki-san?" interrupted Orihime.

"Yes?"

"What does a shinigami do exactly?"

Rukia smiled, which in turn made Ichigo grimace. "I'm glad you asked, Inoue-san," Rukia said, positively beaming. Orihime saw her take a sketchbook out of nowhere and opened to a page filled with colorful drawings. "I've made this illustration especially for Ichigo but I think it's better suited for me to explain a shinigami's job with it to you."

"Wow . . ." Orihime said in awe.

"Ugh . . ." Ichigo said in disgust. "What . . . the _hell_ . . . are those?"

"Listen closely, Inoue-san, because the lesson is about to start," Rukia said in her lecturing voice, ignoring Ichigo for the moment. When Orihime nodded her head with her full attention on Rukia, the lecturing began.

The picture in the sketchbook was not what you would call . . . a grand masterpiece; it was more like a scribbled version of something very grotesque and horrifying but very, _very_ child-friendly. The Hollow illustrated in the page didn't look like anything like a Hollow, and if not for the word 'Hollow' written under it, you would've thought it was a sick, cartoonish bear. The image of the Plus was just as bad except she used a rabbit instead of a bear. These two figures also had their own special backgrounds that may have been to signify their intent. The Hollow bear had a black background filled with yellow-colored lightning bolts drawn everywhere. The Plus rabbit had a white background filled with flowers and hearts adorning the corners, giving it a good and happy kind of side in contrast with the Hollow bear's 'evil'-like kind of side.

Rukia went on to explain the very basics of what a shinigami does to Orihime. Ichigo just sat far away from the two girls, saying that he already knew that stuff and he might just be a distraction to Orihime during the lecture. Orihime, of course, denied that Ichigo was in any way a distraction but Rukia agreed with the substitute shinigami and allowed him to miss out on her lecture. Orihime saw him sigh in relief; she didn't question him about it even after the lecture.

"So," Rukia finalized, "that's how it is. Do you understand, Inoue-san?"

Orihime nodded her head enthusiastically. "Yes, Kuchiki-san! Your illustrations were a great help."

Rukia blushed a little. "Really?" She looked at Ichigo by the corner of her eyes. "Well, at least _someone_ appreciates my artful illustrations."

"More like childish doodles," Ichigo muttered.

"What was that?!"

"I said your drawings resemble a child's doodles!"

"They're illustrations, not drawings! Can't you tell the difference, idiot!"

"I will if you draw something that is _comprehensible_ for once!"

BASH!

"OW! What the hell?!"

"You want another one, Ichigo?"

"The hell's your problem?!"

"Kuchiki-san! Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime yelled, which prompted the two to shut up. "Please don't fight. Plus, you'll wake my neighbors."

"It's okay, Inoue-san," Rukia said. "While Ichigo is in spirit form, only spirit-sensitive humans can see and hear him. Besides, he's the only one shouting."

"All right . . . but still, no fighting. It's forbidden inside this apartment."

"Why?"

A sad expression formed on her face. She gave a meaningful but subtle look at her brother's altar. "I just don't like it when people fight."

Rukia sighed and sat down cross-legged. "All right. We'll stop bickering for now. Do you have any questions about our lecture, Inoue-san?"

Orihime thought about it, and mentally listed the questions she wanted to ask. "Do spirits normally inhabit a shinigami's zanpakuto?" she asked as her first question.

"A spirit?" Rukia raised a brow. "Yes, a zanpakuto is created with its own spirit, usually matching the shinigami's self and personality. And if a shinigami were to learn his or her zanpakuto's name, they will achieve the released form of a zanpakuto called shikai (Initial release)."

"How do you learn a zanpakuto's name?"

"By communicating with it. And in time, the name of a zanpakuto will be known to a shinigami that's proven their worth to their blade."

"Why haven't I heard of this shikai stuff before?" Ichigo asked.

"You didn't ask." Vein popping on the scowling boy's forehead. "Besides, you're only borrowing my shinigami powers, so you have no shikai. The sword you possess is only a mirror copy of a true zanpakuto. Inoue-san's zanpakuto, however, is genuine."

"How do you communicate with it?" Orihime questioned.

"I can't answer that," Rukia replied. "Only you yourself can know how, Inoue-san."

She nodded. "Can I ask be blunt with my next question, Kuchiki-san?"

"Go ahead."

"Why am I a shinigami?"

"I can't answer that."

"That's what the red kimono woman told me, and also she said _you_ could answer my questions."

"Red kimono woman?"

"Yes. She must have been the one who took control and fought Onii—" She paused. ". . . and fought the _Hollow_ when I was sleeping."

"What did she look like?"

"I didn't see her face; her back was to me and she was covering the upper half of her body with a red parasol."

"Did she say anything?"

"She said that if I want to help Kurosaki-kun, I needed to accept her power. She called it my birthright."

Rukia widened his eyes. "Your birthright? Power? Then that means . . . but she's human, it can't be . . ."

"Rukia," Ichigo interjected her train of thought, "is there something you're not telling us?"

"It's only my speculation, but . . . it is impossible. But it would also make sense."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"The only reason I can think of as to why Inoue-san is now a shinigami is because she is a descendant of a shinigami."

"What? A descendant?" Ichigo had a dumbfounded expression.

"But that's impossible!" Orihime exclaimed. "My parents and brother were normal human beings. And also, my brother didn't tell me anything about shinigami and spirits. He was perfectly normal and . . . and . . ."

"If it troubles you," Rukia interjected, "then we should stop thinking about this. Let's just face the fact that Inoue-san is now a shinigami."

Both Ichigo and Orihime nodded, and they entered silence inside the room. There was nothing to say, nothing to talk about. More so for Orihime because she was still accepting the fact that Ichigo was in her apartment, sitting cross-legged less than _two feet_ away from where she was. She couldn't call this feeling uncomfortable but more like embarrassment. Seeing a person's bedroom and its overall appearance is a great way to understand, in a way, a person's character, and Orihime was worried that Ichigo may have already looked around her room. She had nothing to hide but just the thought of him looking around as if he was assessing her very soul made her feel a little self-conscious. Thankfully (or unfortunately), with their mission done, Ichigo and Rukia said that they needed to get back to Ichigo's home.

"See you at school tomorrow, Inoue," Ichigo said as he and Rukia exited Orihime's apartment via the front door. When Ichigo asked why they didn't just use the hole in the wall, Rukia replied that that would have been rude.

"See you at school, Kurosaki-kun, Kuchiki-san." Orihime waved goodbye as she saw the two of them off. Watching Ichigo carry Rukia on his back made her feel a little jealous but she banished the thought away quickly. There was nothing odd or insinuating about that. Ichigo just wanted to help Rukia get back home faster, so they can get to sleep earlier. That's right. They're only—

. . . wait a second.

"Kuchiki-san and Kurosaki-kun are living together?!!"

The seed of envy had been planted . . .

_**And soon . . . very soon . . . I will come back . . . **_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Afterword:**

It's a common gesture in Japan where when you point at your nose, you're referring to yourself. Much like how Americans do an upwards waving motion like they're throwing something over their shoulder is a common gesture of "Come here" or "Over here." Another bit of trivia is that Japanese wave downwards instead of upwards to signify "Come here/Over here." If I remember correctly, an example of that, the wave gesture, can be found in one episode of Bleach (nearing Soul Society arc) where Yoruichi in cat form tries to get Ishida's attention during their first meeting.

'Fuko Ibuki' is a character in the visual novel (that also became an anime with two seasons) Clannad. She's a memorable character due to her saddening storyline and childish personality (she even refers to herself in the third-person). But in the reference in this chapter is due to her euphoric episodes. If you've seen Clannad then you'd definitely know what I mean when I say 'Starfish Daydreaming.'


	3. Purpose

Date written: 28/03/09 – 02/04/09

Rewrote with Beta: 10/04/09

Posted on FanFiction: 10/04/09

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I originally planned on posting this chapter yesterday but I wanted to wait for my beta to finish the editing. And whether NocturnalFerri sent the edited Chapter yesterday or not, I may have moved the publishing date, regardless. I've been so hooked on a certain epic Vandread fic that my eyes were sore from staring at my CRT monitor for hours on end.

This chapter centers on character development with Orihime. Ichigo's determination originates from Rukia setting his mind straight about his new role—it was around Episode 2, at the park scene. While watching that scene, I've realized that Kubo gave Ichigo a reason to fight for strangers, going so far as to risk his life, so to speak. And I began thinking, 'If Orihime doesn't have a valid reason, then this story won't be executed properly.' I'm a firm believer that the characters in a story are not puppets; they have their own unique personality, likes and dislikes, preferences, and also flaws. To deepen the characters in this AU further, I have to provide proper character development. If I get good reception for this, I might add some more character development plots I have in mind.

Chapter 4 might come out on Tuesday or Thursday, depending on how much time I'm putting onto finishing it and how long my beta thoroughly inspects it. I have some planning to do after what happened in the ending of this chapter. You'd never expect to see it coming!

_**Though it took some time, my beta, NocturnalFerri, had done an incredible job in rectifying the mistakes I made in this chapter. Your personal best, NF.**_

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 3 ---**

**Purpose**

Orihime walked to school, looking dejectedly at the ground. This wasn't like the usually cheerful disposition she had always been known for. In fact, she hadn't smiled at all since she woke up that morning. Tatsuki walked beside her as they made their way towards school. She knew that Tatsuki was a little worried about her severe change of character—she had never been described as 'gloomy' before—and even asked her if she was melancholic today because of the sumo wrestler who breached through her apartment's wall—_on the second floor!_—last night. How that was possible, Tatsuki couldn't figure out. Nor did Orihime; she was only told that Rukia modified Tatsuki's memories. She thought that the raven-haired woman must've used something like that memory-eraser-thingy from the MIB movie to modify—or in Orihime's vocabulary, _erase_—what happened last night in Tatsuki's mind. It made sense to replace Tatsuki's memories from last night with fake ones for her safety, but what didn't make sense was why those memories were so ludicrous. If shinigami were supposed to keep this 'invisible battle' from humans, then why use such exaggerated memory-modifiers in the first place?

_Maybe I can ask Kuchiki-san later._

They arrived at school without incident and entered their classroom, and were then greeted by—

"Hime-chan!"

BASH!

"Mornin' Chizuru," Tatsuki said as she did a clothesline wrestling move on the redhead's neck before she could get close to groping Orihime.

"Good morning, Chizuru-chan," Orihime said. The recipient, however, was still knocked out and sprawled on the ground.

"Leave her there, Orihime. She can wake up on her own."

"That's . . . cruel . . ." Chizuru gasped as it was a little difficult to breathe with her slightly crushed throat. Orihime knew that if Tatsuki had been serious in hurting the lesbian, she would've crushed her throat thoroughly. Tatsuki is a martial artist, not a wrestler, after all.

Orihime set down her bag on her desk and inadvertently moved her gaze to Ichigo Kurosaki's currently empty seat. To that seat's right was another empty seat where Rukia Kuchiki would sit. Just looking at those two empty seats made her recall the last revelation she had last night that had an even bigger impact on her than finding out she was now a shinigami. She was only suspecting the likelihood of Ichigo and Rukia living under the same roof, but the chances of it being true were big. To nullify or enhance her worries, she needed to clarify the matter with Rukia; Ichigo was out of the question; Orihime wouldn't know how to approach him with the subject, anyway.

"Good morning, Ichi—"

BASH!

"Yo!" Ichigo greeted as he did a clothesline wrestling move on Keigo Asano's neck. The only reason why he did that was because Keigo was about to jump him, and it was just out of reflex. Orihime had a feeling of déjà vu.

"Good morning, Kurosaki-kun," Orihime greeted.

"Oh . . . uh . . . morning, Inoue," Ichigo replied.

"Something wrong, Ichigo?" Tatsuki asked, arms crossed. "You're stuttering."

"No, I'm not," he said tiredly. He then said to Orihime, "Can you meet me on the roof fifteen minutes before lunch ends?"

"Heh?" Orihime's vocabulary went down to the capacity of a very dumbfounded person. She had an idea why he wanted to meet with her later but her head thought of other ideas that didn't involve anything about shinigami. She inadvertently blushed.

"I said can you meet me at the roof a quarter before lunch ends?"

Tatsuki whispered to Orihime, "Ohoho, looks like Ichigo is finally making the moves on you, Orihime." If possible, Orihime's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "You better accept."

Orihime can only nod at her friend. She smiled her first smile of the day at her, making Tatsuki smile back after seeing that her best friend was happy again. Steeling herself, Orihime squeaked out an audible "Yes!" before looking away, while cupping both of her cheeks with her hands as if the embarrassment was enough to make her cheeks melt at their heating redness and she had to keep them from falling off her face. Though she was embarrassed, she was also happy. She knew for a fact that Ichigo wanted to talk about their shinigami status, but she didn't care. She considered this little meeting as a date of sorts, and she was just glad that she would be having her first date with Ichigo even if it was only for fifteen minutes.

"All right, see you then," Ichigo said, and went to his seat.

It wasn't long before class started. And as time forwarded into an unknown future, Orihime was waiting impatiently for the clock to get to 12:45. At least when she was having lunch with the girls, the topic of interest was about the hole in her apartment's wall. She needed to have her full attention on the conversation to convince them that it was all as Tatsuki 'remembered.' But, for Tatsuki's reputation, she was the one who told them about the sumo wrestler.

For the very first time, Orihime actually wanted lunch to end very soon.

* * *

Meanwhile, up on the roof . . .

Ichigo Kurosaki was massaging his forehead, the spot where he had a pretty deep gash from last night. He had let Rukia heal him with her kidou (Demon Arts) but never thought that the extent of the healing can go as far as repairing the damaged tissue, leaving no scar to be left as a reminder of his hesitant mistake. But he learned his lesson the hard way, in the end.

What he couldn't seem to comprehend was the fact that Orihime was now a shinigami. He had the whole night to get this bit of info into his head but as much as he tried, the very _idea_ of it seemed ludicrous. He wouldn't call this denial, more like a fact you can't seem to get into your head. Like when you're stuck with a particular math problem in the first grade, but finding it easy as you got older. The solution had become second nature by then, and you could barely remember why you had such a hard time with it before. So he only needed time. That was all he needed.

But apart from _what_ Orihime became, he felt the urge to know _how_ Orihime became a shinigami. Replaying all the memories he had last night, he was certain that her chain of fate had been literally torn off her chest by her Hollow-turned brother. And that was not enough to actually become a shinigami, right? She would need a power, an inborn sort of talent to become one—though Ichigo was an exception, seeing that his powers were only borrowed. Just thinking about this complicated stuff didn't really spring any answers to mind whatsoever; it only gave him a headache in the end.

But maybe that was why he asked her to meet him later fifteen minutes before lunch ended. He didn't tell Rukia about their planned meeting yet; he was compelled to talk about this with Orihime alone. Rukia wasn't exactly the kind of person that can hold back or sugar coat once she dropped that aggravating façade she uses on their classmates; well, he could be just as blunt as her sometimes, so he wasn't one to talk, but, nonetheless, he knew when to be sensitive when the situation needed it. When Orihime's chain of fate had been severed, she had died. Rukia said that before— _if her chain of fate were to be completely cut off, then she dies_—and he saw it with his own two eyes. How angry he felt when he failed to save her. But Orihime didn't die as easily as snapping your fingers. The only way to describe it was to say that Orihime was 'reborn' as a shinigami, and its cause was still unknown to the three of them.

So why did he call out to Orihime if he already deducted what he knew?

He guessed he needed to be sure about something. He had suspected it, but never brought it up. There was only one way to answer the question he had been asking himself ever since he first met Orihime, and that was to ask her directly. It would be easy—very easy—if it was not Orihime. If it were anyone else he could have gone on and asked his question directly without hesitation, but when it came to Orihime he just couldn't face her and ask. Well, he already went as far as asking her to meet him alone on the roof. There was no way to back out of this now.

"Hey, Ichigo." The voice stopped Ichigo's musings and made him look up at the speaker. Instead of seeing a face, he was forced to look at a strawberry juicebox. "Help me with this."

"Rukia." He didn't need to say more. The owner of the voice had enough bluntness that it was beyond obvious as to who it was. Ichigo took one look at the juicebox and Rukia's serious face, and said, "You just insert the straw into the circle on top of the box."

"The straw?" she repeated, then back went to pondering the unknown process of opening the mysterious drink.

This was one of the things that intrigued Ichigo a bit—just a bit. Apparently, Rukia was not that well informed of the swift advances of technology in the human world. Her knowledge may have been up-to-date until at least the 1920s, but not now. There had been some technological upgrades in Soul Society as well, judging by the precision of the 'Hollow Radar' in Rukia's cell phone when finding Hollows in the city. Still, her confusion over a simple juicebox was good for a little entertainment.

"Looks like you two are together again," Ichigo and Rukia's classmate, Mizuiro Kojima, commented as he made his way to where they were leaning against the tall, red railings of the roof. "Are you two seeing each other, perhaps?"

"As if." Ichigo snorted. Rukia said nothing; she was too engrossed in trying to figure out how to drink her juice.

"Oh my God!" A new (and annoying) voice entered the scene. "Do my eyes deceive me?! Has our new transfer student, Kuchiki-san, blessed us with her presence here in our usual eating place? Oh! The heavens have not abandoned us!"

"Shut up, Keigo," Ichigo said. "You're ruining our lunch."

"What Ichigo means is," Mizuiro interjected, "that you're interrupting his well-calculated approach on Kuchiki-san."

Ichigo looked indifferent, but his eyebrow _did_ twitch a millimeter.

"WHAT?!!" Keigo yelled, looking at Ichigo with untold fury. "ICHIGO, YOU BASTARD!!!" His expression then changed—"Good job!"—into a tear-jerking idiot with both of his hands giving the thumbs-up at the orange-haired teen.

_If he comes any closer, I'm gonna totally kick his ass!_ Ichigo thought. It was a good thing that he had finished his juice long ago, because he was currently squeezing the empty box in annoyance. He used to have very little patience for Keigo, and more than once did the guy become a victim of a well-executed backhand from his fist. Keigo never really complained about it. But now, Ichigo developed a kind of tolerance for his friend's strange antics but still, a guy has his limits. The only difference was that the frequency of the Keigo beatings had diminished quite substantially since they first met during middle school.

When Ichigo snapped out of his thoughts, he heard Keigo say something to Rukia, to which she showed him her still unopened juicebox. Keigo had a contemplating look on his face before he broke into a wide grin as he decided to 'help the new transfer student with her problem,' as the guy put it. Looking away without much interest over how things would play out between the two, Ichigo saw another person making their way towards them.

"Hey, Chad," Ichigo greeted. He noticed the bird cage the Mexican giant was carrying, and also how he was bandaged up on his forehead as well as his right arm. _Come to think of it, Chad hadn't come to the morning classes today._

The others chorused greetings as well as Chad, whose real name is Yasutora Sado, sat down on the floor with his curry bread firmly held in his other hand. Chad set down the bird cage which housed a small, cute cockatiel that seemed to stare at Ichigo in childish wonder. He had a sudden feeling that this was not a normal bird.

"How come you're injured?" Ichigo inquired.

Chad looked at his arm and said, "The one on my head came from a steel girder that fell on me last night."

"STEEL GIRDER?!" Keigo, Mizuiro, and Ichigo chorused. "AND YOU'RE STILL ALIVE?!"

_I'm still wondering what the hell Chad's made of_, Ichigo thought, _or if he's really human._

"The one on my arm," the giant continued, "happened when I was on my way to school. A motorcycle driver lost control of his bike and it headed straight at me. I had to use this arm to protect myself. Unfortunately, the biker was injured, so I rushed him to the hospital."

"So that's why you came to school just now," Ichigo said. _Honestly, Chad, what the _hell_ are you made of?_

"Hey, Chad, why'd you bring a cockatiel to school?" Keigo asked, observing the bird in question.

The cockatiel fluttered its wings a bit before saying, "Nice to meet you all. My name is Yuuichi Shibata."

"Woah! It can talk fluently. Man, Chad, this here's a really talented bird. Hey, can you say 'Keigo?'"

Ichigo, however, didn't share the same kind of enthusiasm Keigo and Mizuiro have when the cockatiel talked. He instead felt a sort of 'pulse' when it started to speak, and he immediately knew that the way the cockatiel was speaking was unnatural.

"Where'd you get the bird, Chad?" Ichigo asked, hoping to find some answers from the Mexican.

"Yesterday, I . . ."—Five seconds later—"I got it."

"Hey, what's the deal? You just shortened the whole story without telling us anything!" Keigo accused.

"No, I did not."

"Don't lie. Tell us everything, now. Come on!"

Tuning out the pointless conversation, Ichigo turned towards Rukia, who was looking at Chad trying to feed the cockatiel a tiny portion of his curry bread, and waited for some kind of confirmation from her.

He whispered to her, "Rukia, was that—"

"Yeah," she interjected in a hushed tone, "a Plus. Somehow, it had merged itself into the body of that cockatiel."

"Anything else I should be aware of?" He watched Mizuiro and Keigo look in amazement as the cockatiel spoke fluent Japanese again.

"No. We can do the konso (Soul burial) tonight."

Ichigo sighed. "Great. Another night without much sleep. Man, what a drag."

"Don't complain. Hmm . . . this juice is good."

Ichigo wanted to reply to that, but held his tongue instead. His mind then turned to the situation he had. Checking his watch, he would be meeting Orihime here on the roof twenty minutes from now. By that time, he needed to drive all four people who were on the roof with him out. He needed a private conversation with the girl and he couldn't do that without being alone with her. Thankfully, he and the guys would often finish up lunch long before 12:45. Keigo, Mizuiro, and Chad (even if he had eaten late, he would stick with the unwritten schedule) were out of the loop, then. The obstacle now would be Rukia.

Due to his shinigami duties, she would often be by his side. It had only been two days since she transferred in the school but rumors had already circulated everywhere that Rukia would usually be where he was; it was annoying but making a big fuss about it would only make it worse. The only way he can convince her would be to tell her he needed to speak with Orihime alone. He was thankful that Rukia could understand enough about Orihime's situation that when he told her he wanted to speak to her alone about it, she agreed, albeit reluctantly.

So when the three boys left the roof—

"Aren't you coming, Ichigo?" Keigo asked.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," he replied. "I need to clear my head of something first."

"All right."

—Rukia gave one final look at Ichigo that clearly said, 'Tell me everything later,' before she joined the others in exiting the roof.

Ichigo checked his watch again.

_**12:39**_

He waited for Orihime to come.

* * *

_**12:45**_

By that time, Orihime had already arrived at the rooftop and found it empty except for the presence of the one who called her there. He was leaning against the railing, watching the passing clouds, waiting for her. Orihime felt her heart flutter at the sight of Ichigo, and she had to double her efforts not to back down. They were only going to talk, right? Nothing wrong about that. Nothing insinuating, right? Right, right.

"Ku—Kurosaki-kun?" She had to clear her throat before her voice could come out strained like some nervous wreck. Truthfully, she _was_ nervous but she didn't want Ichigo to know that.

"Inoue," he replied in greeting. He motioned for her to stand next to him at the railing. Orihime nodded, blushing a little, and walked towards the spot where her crush was.

"You wanted to talk to me?" she asked.

He nodded. He was silent for awhile before he asked, "Are you okay with this?"

"Heh?" The question completely caught Orihime off guard.

"You becoming a shinigami, I mean. Are you okay with all of this?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but we can't change what has already been done. I guess I'll just have to get used to it." She smiled.

And somehow, Ichigo knew it was fake. "Don't lie to yourself like that."

"Heh?"

"I said don't lie. I know you think more of this than just a simple problem that can be solved by just ignoring it."

"I—I'm okay, really." _Liar._ "There's nothing wrong at all." _There is something wrong._ "I am fine." _No, I'm not._

"Inoue . . ." His eyes looked solemn. "It's okay."

His words seem to be a trigger to something that was caged within her. Something she had been suppressing for so long—the doubts, the implications, everything that lead up to what can only amount to the unanswered truth of her real lineage. She had always suspected it. No one in her family had her ghost-seeing 'gift.' Now the doubts were proven and the reality that she tried so hard to keep intact was slowly crumbling to dust, as the boy in front of her eyed her with eyes full of knowing, understanding, and even worry.

She kicked back a sob, but the tears were slowly falling. "How did you know?"

_How did you know I've been hiding this side of me?_ was the full question, but Ichigo knew, the same way he knew she had been wearing a happy mask whenever she was sad.

"I've always known you to be a big bundle of happiness," Ichigo said, "but whenever I looked at your face, I felt as if that image was false. And I was right. Inoue, people don't normally accept this with just a shrug. I know you can't shrug off your worries either."

She sobbed once. The tears dripped down her chin. "I've been always afraid, Kurosaki-kun," she said. "I look nothing like my brother. And when he showed me pictures of our parents, I immediately saw their resemblance with Onii-chan, but . . . none with me." She wrapped her arms around herself, her hands clasping on the edges of her shoulders. "I've always thought myself as Orihime Inoue, but maybe it had been a lie to begin with. Nobody in my family had a history of seeing ghosts, nor did they have the lineage of a shinigami that I know of. That means I'm . . . I'm . . ."

"Orihime Inoue," Ichigo finished.

She bit her lip, fighting back more sobs, trying not to look so weak in front of the person she admired. Before she knew it, she felt a hand grab the top of her head in a comforting way that recalled memories of when her brother did the exact same thing whenever she was crying. "Kurosaki-kun, I . . . I . . ."

"It's okay."

The words were replayed and she couldn't take it anymore. Throwing her shyness and control out the window, she hugged Ichigo with all her might. She needed more comfort as the dam broke within her, flooding her eyes with tears that had been unshed for so long that it almost seemed like Orihime would drown in it.

Minutes passed; she was still in his arms, crying silently from her worries. Her eyes burned and her cheeks were red with heat. She didn't know how long she'd been crying but she didn't care. The reality of seeing what her brother had become and the implications of her actual parentage joined together in her broken state. She needed release but doing so in front of Ichigo, and showing her weakness—though he already noticed his grief before she could say anything otherwise—was unsettling. But it was a good kind of unsettlement. She wouldn't want to replace that feeling for anything. Orihime only wanted the grief to pass and be embraced some more by him.

When her sobs were controlled, she felt Ichigo hug her tighter. "Thank you," she whispered to him before, reluctantly, moving away from his grasp. She knew now that Ichigo had big, strong arms that fitted right against her petite frame.

"Better?" Ichigo asked, in which she nodded. She wiped away the extra tears before facing him again.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Kurosaki-kun."

"It's all right, Inoue."

"About your question earlier . . ." She hesitated to say more, but also knew that things wouldn't go anywhere until she got this settled. "I'm still unsure about everything. If I think that I'm a descendant of a shinigami, I also think about the likelihood of me being an adopted child. Did my real parents leave me? Did they hate me? Did Onii-chan even know about what I was? Am I human? Am I a shinigami? Kurosaki-kun, I . . . I just don't know anymore."

"You can get through this, Inoue." She saw him slid his hands in his pockets, giving out the cool image normally found in the shoujo mangas she often read, and she couldn't keep her heart from beating faster. "But to be certain of that, you shouldn't get involved with me."

"Heh?" Again, she was caught off guard, but this wasn't a question this time. It was a declaration and she could see the seriousness emanating from Ichigo's eyes; the ever-present scowl he had just amplified the effect it had on her.

"Even though you're now a shinigami for some reason, you should leave the duties to me."

"But why?"

"I don't want to see you get hurt, if I can help it. Besides, I can handle things on my own."

"Kurosaki-kun . . ."

"You don't need to get involved if you don't want to."

Before Orihime could retort to that, the school bell rang, signifying the end of lunchtime.

"Let's get back to class," Ichigo said as he turned away from Orihime, heading towards the roof's entrance door.

Orihime watched him walk away without giving her final say to what she was thinking. Perhaps Ichigo already thought that she would think otherwise to what he was proposing to her, and made sure that she would accept. Ichigo gave a valid point, and she was also unsure whether she can even handle the battles a shinigami must face. Looking at his back—slowly going away, slowly fading from her sight—she hesitated in calling for him. She somehow knew that talking to Ichigo about her decision wouldn't quiver the boy's attempts in keeping her away from the supposed harm. But what would that lead to, she asked herself. She gained these powers for a reason, and that was to save him from harm. Yet it seemed like Ichigo was the one who was doing the saving now. Sure, he was made for that role. But what about her? Where did her and her powers come into play once the curtain rises and the Hollows wreak havoc? She had these shinigami powers for a reason and to ignore that reason would be like ignoring a part of what she was, what she is, and what she will be.

No, even if Ichigo thought otherwise about her decision, she wouldn't back down on it. This was her decision, her fate, her birthright. Orihime believed that there is a purpose in everything, and understood that her newfound legacy had its own purpose. She wasn't completely sure what it was, but in time she would know.

* * *

The sun was close to setting as Ichigo packed up his things into his bag, and exited the school. Class was over. He wanted to talk to Orihime some more but crushed that train of thought quickly. He figured she might need some time to think things over. And besides, he didn't want to face her right now.

Ichigo sighed as he walked back to his home. After lunch, Orihime didn't speak to him for the rest of the day. Whenever he would look at her during class, she'd turn her head and face him—his brown eyes stared at her dazzling gray eyes—but quickly look away, too. It was understandable and he didn't blame her for that. He felt like shit, talking to Orihime like that as if she was some kind of damsel in distress. He saw what she could do last night—heck, she can _wipe the floor_ with him as the mop if she wanted to—and the way she moved and took care of the Hollow were both far from the definition of being 'damsel in distress.' So why did he say those things to her?

Ichigo asked himself that question all the way home. It was only when he reached his house's street did his mind thought back to last night. _Her eyes turned brown_. And when it was brown, Orihime looked dangerous, unpredictable, mysterious . . . and alluring. _Banish that thought! Banish that thought!_

Leaving—_NO! BANISH IT!_—those thoughts for now, Ichigo was mentally preparing himself for his father's usual antics once he opened the door to the Kurosaki house. He opened the door, expecting his father to be giving him a flying dropkick . . . but instead saw no one inside the living room. He then heard some noises coming from the clinic that was connected to the house.

Without anything better to do, he entered the clinic, and was greeted with her two sisters in nurse outfits. Not arousing at all, but it gave Ichigo the feeling that Yuzu and Karin were hard at work in nursing the patients.

"What happened?" Ichigo asked as Yuzu passed.

"There had been an accident just down the street," Yuzu answered quickly. "I gotta go; welcome back, by the way, Onii-chan."

Ichigo watched her walk away with the items she had been carrying, and thought about how he could help. He went and asked his dad—

"You're not properly trained for this, Ichigo. If you don't have anything else to say, then just wait 'til I ask for you."

—and got quickly rebuffed. Apparently, his father still remembered the disaster he caused when he last helped the clinic. Who knew that the guy could also hold grudges? Ichigo knew that he was a little clueless when it came to nursing or doctoring, but he still wanted to help people. But it looked like his father did not share the same sentiment, thinking that Ichigo would do more harm than good when he started 'nursing' the patients. Ichigo still studied a bit on medicine, though.

As Ichigo wallowed in his uselessness at the corridor (the lines of sorrow and the depressive shadow were added for effect), Yuzu called for some help with a new patient at the entrance. Ichigo was about to come and help when his senses immediately went into danger mode.

He smelled the scent of a Hollow nearby.

But he also noticed that it was faint, as if the Hollow had shed its skin, leaving the residue to rot and be felt by him. He then remembered that Yuzu was asking for help with a patient that just arrived. He put two and two together, and realized that someone had been attacked by a Hollow. And whoever it was, Yuzu sounded frantic as she called for Dad, meaning that the attack must have caused some serious injuries. Wasting no more time, Ichigo rushed to aid his sister and the victim.

When he came to the clinic's genkan (a traditional Japanese entryway where people remove their shoes), he saw the bird cage and the familiar cockatiel inside it . . . and the victim—

Ichigo widened his eyes in disbelief.

Chad, looking unharmed, was carrying a bloodied Orihime into the clinic.


	4. Her Decision

Date written: 04/04/09 – 13/04/09

Posted on Fanfiction: 17/04/09

Rewrote with Beta: 17/05/09

Reposted on Fanfiction: 21/05/09

A/N: While browsing through some Bleach fanfics after I finished writing Chapter 2, I've stumbled upon a story called _Nature of Power_, by Story Weaver1. The summary given raised my eyebrow since it also dealt with Orihime becoming a shinigami, and to make it an even scarier coincidence is that after reading the first chapter, it absolutely paralleled with my story's Chapter 1 in the experimental stages. I thought up of three different scenarios where I could introduce the story. I, naturally, rejected the first two due to story flow complications. (Scenario 1) Situating Orihime into the street in front of the Kurosaki household just as the Hollow was ruthlessly attacking the family was a little hard for me to conjure a valid reason as to why she was there. Plus, that would mean Ichigo won't have access to his shinigami powers until a certain green- and white-striped hat wearing slacker intervenes in their business earlier on. (Scenario 2) This is very close to the scenario I used in Chapter 1; the only differences are 1) Tatsuki was the one who had her soul ejected, 2) Orihime tried to fend off Hollow Sora physically by herself and got injured, 3) Orihime unlocked her powers not by dying, but by some unknown cause, which also meant she never died at all. Scenario 2 was the skeleton of the final Chapter 1, and I modified and rejected a lot of other ideas until I ended up with Orihime dying and being 'reborn' as a shinigami with . . . a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde side effect. Evidently, it was a nice touch if I do say so myself.

If anyone had actually noticed the other slight similarities of my story and Story Weaver1's, then it's all a coincidence. It was a coincidence that both of our stories have Orihime liking Rukia's drawi—er, illustrations, I mean. It was also a coincidence that both of our stories have Orihime wanting to learn ke—whoops, can't tell; that'd be spoiling.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 4 ---**

**Her Decision . . . **

Orihime didn't speak to Ichigo after his declaration to her at the rooftop. She had been occupied with thinking over what use she would be to him. She was very good in Karate since Tatsuki taught her and even commented that she could be as good as a nidan (Second degree) black belt. But hand-to-hand combat didn't seem like it would be effective in battling Hollows, judging from what she had learned from Rukia's lecture last night. Apparently, to exterminate a Hollow and send it to Soul Society, its mask must be slashed with a shinigami's zanpakuto. To do that she would need to know how to handle a sword.

It was easier said than done, but she knew that it was a hurdle she needed to jump over. Nobody said that the path she chose was going to be easy; Orihime expected it to have many challenges. And apart from her apparent lack of skill with a zanpakuto, she also didn't know how to 'go shinigami' as she called it. Her soul was still in her body and there was just no way she could think of that can extract the former out of the latter. But Ichigo and Rukia had been able to do it, so it must be something they knew but hadn't divulged to her. She would need to ask Rukia about this along with her supposed living arrangements with a certain orange-haired male.

Walking out of the school building, she met up with Tatsuki, who was waiting for her. "Come on," Tatsuki said.

"Sorry, Tatsuki-chan, but I can't walk home with you today," Orihime replied.

Tatsuki raised a brow. "Why?" It was an obvious question to ask, but Orihime hadn't prepared for it. So what better way than to tell the truth if you can't think of a plausible lie?

"I wanted to ask Kuchiki-san something."

"Do you know where she lives?"

Orihime nodded; she was about to say "She lives with Kurosaki-kun" but closed her mouth before she could voice out the first syllable. Instead, she said, "So, see you tomorrow."

Tatsuki nodded back. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Orihime stood in front of the school gates, watching her best friend walk down the road and turn left to another street. Once the raven-haired girl was out of her sight, Orihime about-faced and bolted towards Ichigo's home. Her run was at a slow pace (more of a jog than an actual run) but she was making good progress in reaching her destination. If she was lucky, she might even get there before Ichigo. Then again, it might also mean she'd get there before Rukia, though she had been aware that Rukia was the first to leave the school.

While making her way to the Kurosaki home, she thought back to the first time she had ever been there. It was not a good memory overall, but it had also been the first time she met Ichigo, and she didn't know who he was until Tatsuki told her so later on. Maybe that was why she had been trying to get to know Ichigo more when she found that out. When her brother had been in that fatal accident, he was taken to the nearest clinic which happen to belong to the Kurosakis. Orihime had rushed to where he was being treated as soon as she found out about the accident.. She was not allowed to see her brother immediately when she got there, but one boy waited out in the hall with her, comforting her and saying that it will be okay. Well, in a typical child-manner; he had tried to show his softer side but hadn't been really good at expressing it so openly to a stranger before, so it didn't really make much headway. But it did make her feel a little better just knowing that someone in the clinic was kind enough to make her laugh. She slowly wondered why she had been so intimidated by his scowl at the time.

When she smiled, she saw him smile back. She wanted to ask his name but the doctor treating Sora came into the hallway and called out to her. It was then that he told her about her brother's death.

"_No, you're lying . . ."_

When she entered the examination room, Sora laid on the bed, covered with a white blanket from head to toe. The doctor closed the door as Orihime stepped inside the room, telling her that he would give her some time alone. He may have already known that she needed that time to let the information sink thoroughly into her mind. She needed to be alone. Her brother—

"_You can't be dead . . ."_

—was dead. There was no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath, no life inside his body. Orihime had walked closer to the right side of the bed, clasped her left hand with Sora's cold one, and cried. Nobody had entered the room no matter how loud she cried; she had just wanted to release all the tension, all the sadness, and to acknowledge the cruel fact that there was no one left to take care of her. She was alone in the world. Her brother was gone.

Orihime didn't want to think it, but there may have be something else she was not aware of during her mourning. If what Rukia had told her in her lecture was accurate, then a konso won't happen to a soul immediately after its chain of fate had been severed. Well, that was in the case of locating dwelling souls; it was rare for shinigami to find and perform konso on souls that died less than an hour or so. And it led Orihime into thinking . . . where did her brother's soul go right after he died? If she knew Sora as well as she did, he would have said goodbye to her. He was not aware of her 'gift,' but she would've said goodbye to him, ignoring the fact he couldn't see ghosts, if the roles had been reversed. Yet, throughout the days after his death, not once did she feel his presence close by. It was as if he had already gone to the Other Side without saying goodbye, and it was only because of her grief-stricken state that Orihime thought nothing of this back then. If she did, she knew it would have made her even more depressed.

But at least she found the answer to that question on her own. If her brother's soul was not there after he died and before Orihime entered the room, then he must have been taken by someone. And she shuddered at the thought. It would also explain why Sora became a Hollow and hadn't been sent to Soul Society after all this time. And that would also mean—

She suddenly felt a powerful presence nearby that disturbed her. It felt toxic and predatory, like poisonous gas entering and exiting her lungs, leaving a very strong aftertaste that wanted her to gag out her lunch and spit out bits of blood. And at the same time, she felt this slightly heavy pressure pushing her body down, as if she were carrying a half-filled rice bag on her back. Soon her mind felt the familiarity of this presence and understood why she reacted this way.

It was a Hollow.

Not far away, right where the presence was near, she heard a loud collision. Following the presence rather than the curious people heading towards the same direction, she arrived at a three-way intersection. The road perpendicular to the road where she was in was littered with gasping onlookers and a serious automobile accident. Two four-door sedans had been demolished through a head-on collision, clashing metal against metal with such severe force that one of the drivers had been flung out of his car seat and skidded on the asphalt until the friction slowed him down to a halt. Another car, a yellow Toyota Corolla E120, slid out of control as it tried to swerve away from the wreckage of the two totaled vehicles. It went up the sidewalk, hitting two pedestrians along the way. By then, the people with cell phones were calling ambulances and the police. She counted five injured, including the four-member family inside the white 1999 Honda Domani which was a part of the head-on collision.

People were badly hurt; blood was everywhere. And she even saw the newly departed soul of the driver that had been flung out of his car. She stared at him as he was forcefully pushed out of his body, his chain of fate still attached. Two seconds later, the chain broke from the middle, leaving the man to shout in terror and bewilderment. He didn't even know he was already dead.

She then heard a blood-curdling roar from above and instinctively looked up in dread. The white mask was all she needed to see to know that that creature was a Hollow, and it seemed to take a rapt attention on the newly departed soul who trembled at the sight of it.

The Hollow was sitting on top of one of the lower buildings that were around ten stories in height, sniffing the air as if in search of more prey. Orihime wanted to warn the soul to run because the Hollow was about to go after him but the man high-tailed it out of there before she could even turn and face him. That must have been the Hollow's signal to attack because it jumped from the roof and landed like a giant sledgehammer slamming on the road, cracking the black tarmac and asphalt with such ferocity that Orihime felt it like there had been a tremor. Before both the soul and Orihime could react, the Hollow opened its mouth and bit the soul's upper body, its teeth piercing the man's waist like a hot knife through butter. Orihime heard the man's muffled scream as the Hollow took hold of the soul's lower body while pulling on the upper. She turned away when she heard the sound of bone and flesh tearing and being chewed by giant, gnawing teeth. Her thoughts got so curious that it wondered whether ordinary souls spurt out blood like any living human who became victim of being chewed up by giant flesh-piercing teeth of a wild beast. But that was as far as her thoughts went. She couldn't stomach the gore.

Nor could she move. The gravity of the horrors and power emanating from the Hollow stunned her senses that it took almost all of her willpower to just stand on her own two legs, but that was a weak attempt. Her legs were unbalanced and wobbled around like a drunkard's legs. When the Hollow's meal was over, Orihime watched as it walked closer to the wreckage, its eyes staring directly at a person lying on the ground. The person must've been caught unprepared by the Hollow's shaky entrance that he lost his footing. He stood slowly up and looked around the wreckage, scanning the road and the streets with concentration, maybe trying to look for any victims who need help out of the demolished cars. She saw the school uniform and quickly realized that he was from her school. The person had dark skin and was tall in height, more than enough to be considered a basketball player. But only one person sprang into her mind that had dark skin, goes to Karakura High, and was very tall.

"Sado-kun!" she exclaimed, and rushed to where the Mexican giant was picking up an injured crash victim bridal-style.

He seemed surprised at her arrival. "Inoue," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"I was just on my way to Kurosaki-kun's house when—" She cut her explanation short when she felt the eerie presence of the Hollow close by. She had completely forgotten about it. Through the corner of her eye, she saw the claws in its right hand going for a clean swipe at Sado. She reacted quickly. "Sado-kun! Watch out!"

She tried to push Sado out of the way but her petite arms were too weak for her to completely shove the heavy giant out of harm's way, even when it came to a surprise for the Mexican in question. Instead of pushing Sado away from harm, she became a cushion of the claw's blow as the Hollow had enough strength in its attack to throw both students in the air. Orihime screamed in pain as the claws dug into her back's flesh, producing four bloodied claw marks in an ascending diagonal pattern.

Her back felt hot. The searing pain was unbearable as Orihime bit her lip to refrain her voice from screaming anymore until the pain made her insane. She tried to sit up but the shock of the blow on her back won out, and she dropped back onto the road with blood oozing out of her deeply cut wounds. She vaguely recalled Sado shaking her shoulder, telling her not to go to sleep. She wanted to listen. Oh how she wanted to listen, because if she didn't, Sado might be attacked again by the Hollow and she wouldn't be there to save him.

She felt light. Was this the end?

_Kurosaki-kun . . ._

* * *

Yasutora Sado didn't know what was going on but Orihime Inoue seemed to have incurred a serious injury on her back. He stared at the four deep gashes of both her blouse and her flesh. She needed medical attention, quickly.

He looked around and saw the woman he had been carrying before Orihime pushed him—well, _tried_ to push him—lying on the road, looking like a mild version of Bloody Mary. She wasn't that bloodied before, though, even after he was relatively pushed by some unknown force (it couldn't be Orihime, he said to himself) and let go of her because the push took him by surprise. His grip hadn't been that strong. The extent of the woman's injuries was immense that he somehow knew that the woman wouldn't make it.

"Mister!" he heard someone yell. Sado turned to the source and saw the cockatiel near the wreckage where he found and extracted the injured woman, flapping its wings inside its cage, almost looking frantic, if birds actually have that kind of expression. "Watch out!"

The cockatiel's words meant something dangerous. But more importantly, he had to rush Orihime to the hospital. Where was the danger, though?

A sudden rush of air snapped him out of his thoughts and he instinctively dodged to the left while carrying Orihime in his arms. A second later, he heard a crash and saw a small crater at the spot where he had been. Sado was spooked, though his stoic face masked that emotion. He could vaguely see a sort of distortion on top of the crater. Something that looked like invisible water or air that had taken shape of something . . . big and dangerous.

"Run . . ." Orihime murmured.

He heard her and thought about doing just that. But he began to ask himself, was this the reason why this devastating accident occurred? Was this also the cause of Orihime's wounds? And if this was true on both counts, what can he do about it?

He looked over to the bleeding woman again and instantly knew she was dead. Sado didn't know how he knew that. It was as if he had seen dead bodies before and could immediately recognize the difference between a corpse and a heavily-injured but still alive and unconscious person. It was a strong enough feeling that he couldn't do anything but trust his own judgment and leave the body there. The rest of the victims were being treated, at least until the ambulance came, by bystanders who were rushing to aid their fellow men.

He heard Orihime gasp air, then moaned in pain. Sado was no doctor, he'd admit that, but he was also no fool to not see the full extent of the orange-haired teen's severe injuries. Waiting for the ambulance to take her to the hospital would take too long. If she didn't receive immediate medical attention, she'd die of blood loss.

"Mister! Mister! Are you okay?" the cockatiel asked.

Sado vaguely wondered if anyone passing by would take notice of a cockatiel speaking in fluent and logical Japanese, as if the cockatiel had an actual grasp of what was occurring outside of its cage. Putting the pointless thought aside, Sado adjusted his hold on Orihime to piggyback. He couldn't risk carrying her bridal style like how he did it on the bloodied woman, unless he wanted to aggravate Orihime's wounds. Succeeding in getting Orihime over his back, he nonchalantly noted that Orihime was a little lighter than he first thought.

"I am," he answered the cockatiel; he now wondered if people would think of him as an escape convict of the loony bin for talking to a bird. But then again, what about the victims and the crater in the middle of the road that came out of nowhere? "You?"

"I am also fine, mister. He's no longer here, too."

"He?"

"The one who attacked you before."

Sado nodded in understanding, said no more on the matter, and picked up the bird cage by inserting his right hand's fore- and middle finger into the metal loop on top of the cage. His top priority right now was to get Orihime to a hospital. But due to the distance of the nearest one, he wouldn't make it in time. Waiting for an ambulance wouldn't be beneficial since Orihime was breathing shallowly and his uniform's sleeves were already drenched in so much blood that it looked like he had dyed them red.

"Kurosaki-kun . . ." she murmured.

"Ichigo?" Then it dawned on him. Ichigo's family runs a clinic at their home. And judging by their location, his home wasn't all that far from them either. Sado had two possible choices: a) Wait for the ambulance to come; or b) Take her to the Kurosaki clinic.

He chose the latter.

And thinking back on it, two days after the accident, Sado realized that it had been a good idea to do so. For if he had stuck around until the ambulance arrived, he would've perished alongside ten others, who were engulfed in a sea of flames when the two collided cars blew up in a tremendous explosion that rocked the intersection in shock and terror.

Sado was no action fanatic (he rarely watches TV) but even he knew that cars don't just blow up all because of a collision in real life. He was most certain that the deaths of those ten people were caused by the same one that wounded Orihime.

* * *

Ichigo rushed to the entranceway, never minding his father, who was already assessing the dire situation. "What happened?" the teen asked Chad.

"An accident not far from here," Chad said, looking winded from running all the way here probably. "Inoue got hurt."

Ichigo wanted to say, 'Don't you think I can see that, moron?!' but bit his tongue. This was no time to snap at others because of his big concern. His worries over the injured woman escalated as her head shook left and right, her mouth whispering incoherent words, almost sounding like a mantra of a yet unknown purpose; she seemed to be dreaming. Her wounds were the main concern right now, not her dreams.

"Yuzu, get a bed vacant," Isshin Kurosaki ordered, then looked at Chad again. "Come on, we need to get this girl into proper care."

"Dad, I—"

"Not now, Ichigo," Isshin interrupted without restrain. "Hurry!" he said to Chad, who nodded and carried the still unconscious form of Orihime to the room Yuzu began to prepare.

Ichigo could only stand in the entranceway, disturbed by the fact that he could do nothing to help. What also disturbed him was the Hollow's scent reeking out of Orihime's wounds, proving the real cause of her being hurt. Her injuries were severe and he was certain his Dad would need to stitch up whatever had caused those wounds to gush out so much blood.

"Be safe, Inoue," he whispered before running down the hallway to where the clinic connected with their house. There was nothing left for him to do than search for the Hollow that did this.

He bolted through the living room, went up the stairs two at a time, and opened the door to his bedroom. There, sitting on his bed with her arms and legs crossed, was Rukia, who was looking at him with a very serious and very grave expression.

"You felt it?" he asked, though it may have been rhetorical.

Rukia nodded. "Yeah. Inoue-san had been attacked by a Hollow."

"How can that be? I thought I told her not to get involved with me."

"Whether you'd get her involved with this line of work or not, it still wouldn't matter. Hollows don't care for such trivial things. They only wish to satisfy their own hunger, regardless of what means they use to obtain that feeling."

"What do you mean 'whether I'd get her involved or not, it still wouldn't matter?'"

"So you haven't sensed it at all?" She didn't even raise an eyebrow. Like how Ichigo asked earlier, her question may have also been rhetorical. "I once told you that Hollows are attracted to people with high spiritual energy. The higher the energy, the more Hollows it will attract."

Realization dawned on him. "Then what you're saying is—"

"Precisely. Ever since Inoue-san gained her shinigami powers, her spiritual energy feels almost as potent as yours. I am certain that was what attracted the Hollow to her."

Ichigo cursed. "Damn it! Why must this happen?"

"Stop asking 'why,' Ichigo. What's done is done, and there's nothing you can do to change it."

"I know, but I just didn't want Inoue to get involved in this. Look what happened to her when she did!"

"That's not for you to decide!" Rukia yelled, her eyes pulsing with unseen anger.

Ichigo reeled back as if he had been slapped in the face and kneed in the stomach.

"Her powers are hers and what she wants to do with them is for her to decide." Rukia glared at him. "Not you."

"But that's . . ." What can he say? That it'd be too dangerous? He knew very well that he was not in control over what Orihime wanted to do, and had no say over her decisions. He could only suggest to her not to be involved but it would be up to her whether to take that suggestion to heart or not. He should have known that Orihime wouldn't listen to him. She was way in deep already, and this line of work involved her whether she agreed to him or not. She'd still get hurt, regardless.

"You understand now?" Rukia asked. She took out her cell phone and pushed some buttons on the keypad. "If you do, then we should go search for the Hollow that attacked Inoue-san."

He nodded; words were unneeded.

"Often a Hollow cannot be detected by us unless it comes into this world." Rukia produced a sketchbook and a . . . colorful illustration drawn on two pages. There were three shaded portions each with a different color on the left side of the illustration. The farther left was referred to as 'Soul Society;' the middle 'Space between;' and the right 'Human World.'

Ichigo stared at the drawing with a twitching eye.

"A Hollow resides within the space between Soul Society and the Human World." She pointed at her trademark Hollow bear, which was in the middle of entering the realm of the 'Space between' with a mischievous glint in its facial expression. "While it is there, we shinigami cannot go after it. However, if it crosses the space between and entered the Human World, then our radars will pick up the Hollow's spiritual signature and alert the nearest shinigami to its location. Any questions?"

"None," he answered, then added, "because your drawings are so incomprehensible, I have _no idea _what to ask."

BASH! He got hit on the nose. He yelled in indignation.

"Again, while it is there," Rukia said, ignoring the orange-haired teen's loud protest, "Soul Society will not be able to detect them. We must eliminate this Hollow before it goes after Inoue-san again or return to that space."

"What do you mean? It's going after Inoue again?"

"You should realize by now that some Hollows behave like territorial carnivores. Once they settled on a prey, they won't stop until they get their prey. For Inoue-san, it just got a lot more dangerous. When a Hollow feels the reiatsu of a person with strong spiritual talent like her, then there are cases it would go after the person again if the first attempt failed." She then showed him the screen of her cell phone that displayed a miniature tactical map. Ichigo saw a small blip at the upper right of the screen. That must signify a Hollow.

"So it's going after Inoue," he said, watching the blip move closer to the center.

Rukia nodded. "Maybe you and your family as well. All this reiatsu gathered in just one place is like a giant bait for Hollows to naturally whiff out in the air. At least this Hollow is alone."

"Then let's go beat the crap out of that bastard."

* * *

Yasutora Sado sighed as he sat down on a bench near the entrance of the clinic. The floor was polished wood, he observed. The walls were given a white coating of wallpaper, which was quite fitting for a very small hospital like this. The bird cage he carried around occupied the space to his left. The empty corridor showed no solace over the escalating discomfort in him. From inside the room at the end of this empty corridor was Ichigo's father doing his best to save Orihime. His expression from outside didn't have any kind of distress over his classmate's critical condition, but he was definitely worried.

"Mister," the cockatiel said. Sado made no indication that he heard him, but the cockatiel took it as though he had. "I'm sorry."

"Hm?" That was unexpected. "What for?" he asked, puzzled as to why the bird would apologize.

"The one who attacked you and your friend . . . and also the one that caused the accident is after me."

"I see."

"Then you should just leave me. If you don't, you'll only get hurt again."

"No."

"Eh?"

"I won't do that."

"But mister, you don't understand. He will _kill_ you if you keep me. You mustn't do it. Please, mister."

There was a change in the air. Sado didn't know why but he felt sudden dread attack every nerve in his body, making him shudder, forcing him to stand up with an unsteady breath. He felt his bowels turn uncomfortably and his lungs constrict like they were being squeezed by some powerful 'pressure' emanating from the surrounding air. The air itself felt heavy and he had a little difficulty breathing. What the _hell_ is this?

"Mister, run! He's here! He's here!"

That was all the warning Sado needed as he took the bird cage into his arm and bolted towards the exit. He was positive that Orihime would make it, and knew that it would be all right if he left her. He had no idea who this 'he' that the cockatiel kept referring to, but understood that 'he' won't rest until he got his hands on the bird. Sado promised his grandfather that he would use his body to protect the ones who couldn't protect themselves. Protecting a bird was no different than protecting a human being. He'd be going against his oath if he accepted the cockatiel's desire to leave it behind.

With heavy steps as the 'pressure' thickened around the air, Sado opened the door and dashed out into the street, turning to the right without looking around. He already knew he can't see 'him.' What point would there be in looking around?

Sado heard a faint voice calling out his name—no, it was his nickname "Chad." But the only ones who ever called him that were Ichigo and their male friends. He didn't stop to figure out where the voice was coming from, however. There were more pressing matters he had to take priority of, and any more distractions would have just hindered his progress. He turned down another street and—just like the past three streets he had passed—it was void of any pedestrians.

The 'pressure' returned. Sado whirled his body to the left, hitting the wall, right before a rush of air swooped past him like a bullet. He thought he heard a roar coming from up ahead but there was no one else in the street except for him and the cockatiel.

"Watch out!"

Sado looked over his shoulder and saw Rukia Kuchiki, the new transfer student, sprinting towards him, evident fear enveloping her face.

"Move now!" she said, and he complied almost instinctively. He rolled to his right, hitting his back on the opposite wall, and heard a cracking sound. The opposite wall now had four deep gashes, horizontally paralleled. And he thought back immediately to the injuries Orihime had received.

'He' was here.

* * *

Orihime woke up to a forest of sakura trees, their blossoms following the path of the mild wind as it sought a purpose to the west. This wasn't what she expected to wake up to. But everything seemed familiar, as if she had been here before. The blue sky. The blooming sakura trees, the petals fluttering against the wind in an intoxicating dance that left her in awe. The soft, green, grass-covered ground beneath her as well.

_**Come, child . . . come . . .**_

That's right. This was the realm of the red kimono woman. And if memory served well for her, that would mean she was asleep—or dead—and the red kimono woman would be found sitting right at a bench near the edge of a cliff. Orihime looked over where she knew that bench was and immediately saw the red parasol and then the red kimono of the woman who gave her shinigami powers.

"We meet again, child," the red kimono woman said as Orihime made her way closer to her. "Although I wish it was during better circumstances."

Orihime couldn't exactly remember what happened before she entered this place but her mind was tugging like it was something absolutely important and that she must remember. But all she _could_ remember was the automobile accident and also Sado helping one of the victims out of the wreckage of the demolished cars. But what happened after was a blur. She remembered pain, excruciating pain that almost rivaled her experience with the Hollow that tore off her chain of fate, though this pain was prominent on her back instead of her chest. She touched that part of her body and found no problems there except maybe for the little stinging sensations that almost seemed like phantom pains of a long lost injury.

"Why am I here?" Orihime asked, puzzled over why she was here, yet also ecstatic that she was talking to the kimono woman again.

"You are here because you wish to be here," the woman answered. She twirled her parasol. "Isn't that why you are here?"

That was a little repetitive. "I don't understand. I didn't wish to be here."

"Oh . . . then you do not know?"

"Know what?"

"Come, child." The kimono woman stood up from her bench and walked towards the edge of the cliff, resting a pale hand against the railing. "Come here and tell me what you see."

Orihime followed her and saw the same thing she had seen the last time she had been her: a gray fog. But it was a little different this time. The fog was darker, more . . . _tainted_, like rain clouds darkening before a storm terrorizes the land. And she felt as if there _was_ a storm coming soon, and it won't be just a simple downpour either.

"Do you see, child? Do you see how it darkened over the time you have awakened your birthright?"

"What's happening?"

"You are the only cause of this, child. And it is only you who can set this right as well."

"Me? But how?"

"Your inner turmoil," the woman answered solemnly. "It has caused your control as well as mine over your spiritual energy residing within your soul to lessen. If this goes on any longer, your body might break from the strain and your spiritual energy will leak out so much at one time that your soul wouldn't handle it. In the end, your soul will disintegrate, putting you out of existence forever."

"I did this?" She raised both hands up to her chest, the left one rubbing the right soothingly.

"Yes. What you're seeing before you is a manifestation of your spiritual energy. The reason why it looks darker is because of your indecision." She hesitated, took a deep breath, and gripped the railing harder. "Though you want to help your friend and accept the responsibilities of a shinigami, your doubt did not leave your heart. You always asked yourself, 'Can I really do this?' 'What if I fail?' 'Am I sure about my decision?'"

Orihime was quiet. She felt her hands tremble against her bosom. Her left hand kept rubbing her right.

"The truth may hurt but you cannot run away from it." The kimono woman lowered her parasol and faced the orange-haired female, showing her for the first time the face that was hidden under the fanciful piece of red wood and paper. Her face was as white as the skin of her hands, and she looked like beauty incarnated. Her hair was strawberry blonde—not quite as red as her own, but it was close—and it dazzled and glittered against the bright, shiny rays of the sun. It was done up into a ponytail that reached her shoulders; she used a purple ribbon to tie up the ponytail with. There was also a red, concave hair comb that was stuck just above the ribbon. Her eyes were as mesmerizing as her feminine figure, and they were in the shade of color that resembled Orihime's. Gray eyes that almost looked silver in the proper lighting. Her expression was of utmost seriousness as she continued what she was saying. "You must find a way to solve this, child."

"I don't know how," Orihime admitted. "How can I set things right if I am not even sure of what I did wrong?"

"You still do not understand, do you?" she asked. When she didn't hear a reply, the kimono woman said, "Very well. Then you will have to find the answers yourself."

Orihime wanted to ask her what she meant by that but never had the chance to. What happened next had been too fast for her eyes to follow and she soon found herself tumbling over the railing and into the gray fog that waited below.

Orihime screamed.

* * *

In the real world . . .

"Damn! She's losing a lot of blood," Isshin stated. He was doing his best to keep Orihime's condition worsening, while she dreamt the world that was not a dream.

Suddenly a black figure ejected itself out of Orihime's body, and floated near the door. Karin felt the presence and looked over her shoulder towards the spot where the black figure was. She squinted her eyes and if not for her father's new list of orders, she would've kept staring at the same spot for who knows how long. She felt disturbed, though. Whatever she felt . . . it didn't feel _human_.

The figure smiled as it flexed its ten fingers, testing out how much control it had over its own body. "Perfect," the figure muttered; the voice was feminine, laced with seduction and confidence. "This is just perfect."

'Orihime' in her shinigami uniform exited the room when one of the nurses, Yuzu, opened the door to fulfill her father's orders. Not long after, Karin exited the room as well, taking a tiny glance at the corridor where 'Orihime' was now walking through.

"She's not breathing! Yuzu, Karin! Hurry! We can't afford to lose her!"

'Orihime's' chocolate brown eyes turned back towards the room where her soulless body awaited what could be oblivion. She smiled. And also did not seem to care. She was free, for the moment. That was all that mattered. "Good luck, princess. I'll be rooting for you." She exited the house and quickly ran towards the concentration of spiritual energy somewhere in the distance. "_**Rooting for you to **_**die**_**, that is.**_"

If anyone were to see her then, they would have seen the maniacal grin on her face, almost reaching ear-to-ear.


	5. Her Resolve

Date written: 14/04/09 – 17/04/09

Posted on Fanfiction: 19/04/09

Rewrote with Beta: 31/07/09

Reposted on Fanfiction: 10/08/09

A/N: I'm getting lazy in these rewrites. Four months since I posted the draft, huh? Yup, definitely lazy.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 5 ---**

**. . . Her Resolve . . .**

Ichigo straightened up as Rukia put on her soul-ejecting glove and smacked her palm into his face. His soul bolted out of his physical body, leaving him with a sense of lightness that could only come from when you were left with nothing but the spiritual energy residing within your very being that lacked any physical manifestation in the real world. He flexed his muscles a bit, straightened the strap of his sheath, and dashed out through the window. Rukia followed close behind.

"Wha—?" Ichigo uttered when his eyes drifted onto the front entrance of his home. With a bird cage wrapped around his big, tanned arms, Chad was running out of the clinic as if his life depended on it. "CHAD!" Ichigo yelled but the Mexican didn't hear him. Of course, he wouldn't. Ichigo was a soul now, and ordinary humans wouldn't be able to see or hear him.

Ichigo didn't know why Chad would just leave all of a sudden like that, especially since he was the one who brought Orihime into the clinic. He knew enough about the Mexican giant to know that Chad often values the safety of the people he tries to protect over his own. It wasn't long after he charged right into the establishment carrying a very injured victim of whatever event that could cause four big and deep cuts on their back, but Ichigo knew better and felt the faint trace of the Hollow's scent in Orihime's fallen form. There was just so much blood that he wasn't sure if she'd still be fine.

Ichigo shook away the thought. _No, she _will_ be fine!_

"Where's he going?" Ichigo asked out loud, which was heard by his companion.

"I am not sure," Rukia replied, "but I think it concerns the human soul within that cockatiel." There was a beep and Rukia immediately consulted her cell phone. "Ichigo, we got orders!"

"Not now! We have more important matters, like that Hollow that's about to come this way."

"That's just it. It changed course and it's now heading northwest."

"Northwest," Ichigo repeated. He then looked over at the setting sun—three quarters of it had already sunk under the horizon—and pitched his view a little to the right. Facing northwest, he suddenly realized something. "The Hollow's going northwest?"

"Yes. Didn't I just say that?" Rukia said. Apprehension crawled onto her face as she looked from the small cell phone screen to the direction of northwest. "Don't tell me . . . it's after that cockatiel."

"Don't forget Chad. What does that bastard Hollow want with Chad and the bird anyway?"

"I know as much as you do, and that's not saying I know a lot about how and what a Hollow thinks."

"Right." He nodded at Rukia, and he dashed off in pursuit of the bird and the giant. He rushed through the streets, keeping a close feel on Chad's and the cockatiel's reiatsu. He also felt the presence of the Hollow close by but couldn't see it yet. He knew that Rukia was also close by, running and barely keeping up with his pace, but he didn't turn around to acknowledge her. His mind was solely on getting to his friend.

Crossing another street, he caught sight of Chad running with untold speed. If Ichigo had been in his physical body, he would have had a hard time catching up to Chad. But with the extra abilities of being a shinigami he was able to catch up without a hitch. Well . . . almost without a hitch. The Hollow was far faster and prepared a tackle attack on the Mexican.

"CHAD, WATCH OUT!" Ichigo screamed, secretly knowing that his voice would not reach his friend's ears. But miraculously, Chad dodged the tackle by moving his body to the left, as if he _did_ hear him. He hit the wall hard but it would take more than that to cause Chad any harm.

"Watch out!" Rukia screamed for him, as the Hollow did another attack, this time using its claws to try and slice Chad in half. "Move now!"

Chad rolled towards the opposite wall, his back to it, breathing a little faster as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. Ichigo acted quickly and unsheathed his goliath zanpakuto, screaming a battle cry as he sprinted towards the Hollow.

The Hollow looked at him and seemed to scoff at his berserker-like charge that seemed to shout out this statement: 'no plan, no secondary objective, and no sense whatsoever.' It moved swiftly out of the sword's way and readied another claw attack.

Ichigo missed his mark but that didn't mean he was out of the game just yet. When the Hollow pulled back its arm, readying the sharp claws protruding from the ends of its fingers, Ichigo swerved his zanpakuto to the side just in time for him to block the attack. But the force of the blow due to the Hollow's inhuman strength made him skid a few feet back, giving the Hollow ample time to jump up to one of the telephone poles in the street.

"You're not getting away from me!" Ichigo shouted with determination. He tightened his grip on his zanpakuto and jumped high into the air. He knew he couldn't jump that high to fully reach the top of the telephone pole with just one leap, so he redirected his jump a little forward, nearing his body to the pole's vertical shaft. He wall-ran the rest of the way up.

"Interfering shinigami!" the Hollow hissed before jumping up again right when Ichigo's sword was about to cut both its legs off. The Hollow grew bat-like wings from under its forearms and then glided around until it was sure it had a definite advantage in the fight, while Ichigo stood on top of the pole, trying to think of a way to get to the Hollow without falling off the pole. He still had very little grasp of the 'levitation trick' and the best he could do was maybe ten seconds of airtime before he lost control and subsequently fell to the ground.

Ichigo didn't like the disadvantage he was in and quickly directed that frustration to the Hollow above him. "Quit flying around like a coward and fight me, bastard!"

Ichigo took a small moment to further analyze his adversary, realizing that there may be more to it than first glance. Its wings were proof of that claim, and he grew uneasy whether there was more up the creature's sleeves than just the ability to glide. A simple analytical view of the mask-wearing monster gave Ichigo a different interpretation. This Hollow was—like all the rest—ugly as hell. Its hole dominated most of its chest that you could even fit an exercise ball in it. It had a blue-grayish color of skin that also looked thick and probably sturdy—if that word could even be a proper adjective for the description of skin, though it might be an exception in the cases of Holow. Ichigo then had a gut feeling that it would be difficult to cut through the Hollow's skin with ordinary blades. Its feet, looking like those of a bird, and hands were coated with a brownish tint that had the texture of fur, though from where Ichigo was, he couldn't be sure. The white mask was like any other Hollow's. It had a square jaw, circular eyeholes, rectangular flat-top horns, and what looked like black paint smothering the area of the lips, making it look like a typical 3-year-old boy that had eaten his chocolate too fast and had made a mess of himself in the process.

"Look at this! A _shinigami_ ordering a Hollow to fight fairly." He laughed as if what Ichigo said had been the funniest thing he ever heard. "What are ya? Some kind of dunce who didn't learn a thing about what a Hollow does?"

"Shut up!" Ichigo yelled.

"Ichigo! Get down!" Rukia's voice came unexpected. Ichigo looked down and saw Chad next to the telephone pole he was on. He saw him hug it and . . .

"RRRAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Ichigo reacted quickly and jumped down from the pole, just as Chad broke it off from its base. "Now, transfer student," he heard Chad say to Rukia, "which way?"

"Straight ahead. Slam it down."

Chad complied and the pole, acting like a wooden mallet in one of those old American cartoons, collided with the Hollow's head. The Hollow received the full force of the blow and dropped to the ground along with the other end of the pole in a heap of dust and cracked pavement.

Ichigo stared at Chad in surprise. _Just what the _hell_ is he made of? Uh, didn't I just think that earlier today?_ Shaking those thoughts away, Ichigo readied his zanpakuto again as the Hollow picked itself off of the ground.

"Give yourself up now and this will be quick," Rukia said, keeping her distance from the Hollow. Both Ichigo and Chad were standing right behind her.

The Hollow laughed maniacally. "Don't think I go down that easily, shinigami scum!" It clicked its tongue, sending some sort of sound pulse around it. The bushes from the surrounding houses reacted as if it were the call of the wind, and if not for the frog-like creatures jumping out of each moving shrub, Ichigo would've thought that plants could do more than just stand around and bathe in light and drink water all day.

The frogs stuck on the backs of all three of them and shoved them towards the ground. Ichigo had the unlucky opportunity of falling face-first; he really hoped his nose didn't break from the fall. When he looked up, Rukia and Chad were in the same predicament and he could see the firm grip these little amphibians had on each of their wrists, shoulders, and elbows. Ichigo tried to force himself out of the restraints but these frogs were as abnormal in strength as well as their looks. But he wouldn't stop trying. He had to get out.

"Haha! Look at you," the Hollow gloated, "squirming around like some fish out of water. Maybe I should end this with a bang. What do you think?"

Ichigo responded by gritting his teeth.

"You think so? Hahaha! Good!" It extended its tongue out, and Ichigo could see the tip, forked like a snake, but more rounded like a U in shape.. The tongue vibrated like a tuning fork, and the next he knew, he was on the receiving end of a mini-explosion that ignited right on his back. Rukia yelped in pain; Chad, however, only grunted as if the blow was just a sissy sucker punch to the gut. "My pets are filled with mini-bombs that explode after I play my little tongue note. But I guess there weren't enough to get rid of any o' ya."

"D—Damn you . . ." Ichigo groaned, sitting up from the ground. His legs felt like their nerves were at their limit and the pain on his back was excruciatingly hindering his stance, but he wasn't about to back down. He picked his zanpakuto off the ground and prepared for another attack. This time, however, he was careful not to fall for the same trick again.

"Oh, best be careful, shinigami," the Hollow drawled, not really caring about its adversary's current condition. "You wouldn't want anything to happen to the little Shibata, would you?" It stepped to the right, showing Ichigo the bird cage and, within it, the cockatiel with its head bowed low.

"I'm sorry, mister."

"Shibata." Chad looked grave, already sensing the danger if he did anything as move from where he laid on the ground. His back was as bad as Ichigo's but due to his muscular frame and the lower number of frogs on top of him, he wasn't fully affected of the explosions as his orange-haired classmate.

Ichigo, however, frowned at the foul attempt of keeping a hostage captive. He wasn't disadvantaged in taking the Hollow out, even with the cockatiel being held hostage by it. He wanted to tread lightly in this situation and maybe even find out why there was a human soul residing within the cockatiel. The Hollow seemed to pay more attention to the one measly Plus inside that bird, even though it may have smelled the strong waves of spiritual energy gathered together at his home. Now this little bit of odd behavior intrigued him, for it could mean that the Hollow was connected to the Plus somehow.

"I'll ask you one question before I send you to hell," Ichigo growled fiercely, his brown eyes almost shining blue. "What is that cockatiel to you?"

The Hollow looked like it was smiling within that ugly mask.

* * *

Orihime gracefully landed on her feet like a cat and was surprised that she did. She had just fallen over twenty stories down yet she hadn't felt any sort of trauma from the impact, as if it had been nullified once she touched the floor. She looked around her, finding the place too foggy and dark for her liking. It clouded her vision so entirely that when she extended her arm out, she couldn't anything past her elbow.

Everywhere was dark gray. But the color seemed to be edging towards blackness. And if what the kimono woman told her was really going to happen, then this place would be like the void of oblivion she would soon find her soul embedded within. There would be nothingness for her if she didn't set this right. But the question still remained: What must she do?

"Hello?" Orihime called, finding no other ways to get started. "Anyone here?" She found it difficult to breathe while in this abyss and her voice wasn't exactly up to par for any talking after that screamfest she did while falling. But at least her voice didn't give out just yet.

No one answered, and she was greeted with silence. It would've stayed that way, too, if not for the _FLAP!_ she heard from somewhere in the fog. It sounded like an umbrella being closed. Inside the fog where her vision was severely limited, she felt rather than saw movement from somewhere to her left. She turned that way and was met with silence again. The very dark fog was cold to her skin and she suppressed the need to shiver while she waited for the unknown person that was with her inside this void-like place to show themselves to her.

"I know someone's there," Orihime said. She wanted to say "Show yourself" along with what she already said, but found that her throat had constricted from fear and from the dense air, and the only sound she could make was a mere gruff and shaken cough. It was as if Orihime hadn't had a drink of water for three whole days. It was already hard to breathe; now it was harder to even talk. Her voice was now lost and there was just no way for her to figure out her predicament.

"Are you lost, child?" the kimono woman's voice echoed in the fog. Orihime was certain she saw her silhouette in the direction where she heard the _FLAP!_ sound. "Do you think you can face whatever obstacle you'll have in your way by avoiding it? That's just cowardice."

Orihime couldn't speak to make a proper reply to what the kimono woman stated. The shivering she tried to suppress intensified until she couldn't hold it back anymore. She wrapped her arms around herself as the cold attacked every part of her body, crawling around like worms, sending what felt like ice needles through her skin and into the very cells of her blood. Her school uniform did nothing to protect her from the intense chill and goose pimples appeared on every part of her body. Orihime exhaled her breath but it was shaky and broken.

"I told you before, child: Open your eyes and see the truth. The rest will go from there."

Orihime shook her head, telling her that she didn't understand.

"Whatever happened to your dedication, child? You said so, yourself. If you wish to continue using the power I gave you, then you must prove to me that you can use it.

"You needn't speak for I can hear your thoughts. But let's not waste anymore time over trivial matters. You need to clear your vision, drive away the fog that clouds your sight of the truth. If you don't, then you'll be consumed by your own birthright. It will take over you; make you its own. I told you that once you take this road, there is no turning back. This power is now a part of you and taking it away is impossible. If you don't hurry, child, then whatever salvation I am forcefully throwing upon you will be all for naught. Do not fail me."

Orihime straightened her stance and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath and gathering her thoughts, she asked the kimono woman through her thoughts, _What must I do?_

"Your shinigami powers are connected to your resolve. Though you've already decided what to do with your powers, your doubts lingered and never quivered no matter how much determination you shout out to yourself. It is as if you are not only lying to others, but to yourself as well. Those doubts made you weak inside, causing all of this within you. I would've postponed the inevitable but that Hollow attack you suffered to your back put you into a near death state. And when you are in near death, the more your powers awaken. Much, much more than I could ever control by myself."

A strong gust of wind picked up and blew away most of the fog. Orihime could now see the field in which she was standing in. The red kimono woman stood near her, staring at her as if she was assessing her physical, mental, and spiritual state. She just had a feeling that it was what the woman was doing because Orihime wasn't looking at her at all; the sight before her was enough to entrance her. The field before was still engrossed in fog, albeit faded and weak like the thin veil of a bride, but she could clearly see the things that were embedded into the soft, grayish ground: Swords. Thousands upon thousands of swords, their blades stabbed into the ground as if they were the tombstones of the soldiers who had lost their lives in battle. The swords were of all shapes and sizes; some were as thin and narrow as the girth of a drumstick; some were as thick and long as an odachi (6-foot long sword, _**tr.**_ "Great big sword") she'd seen in a history book once. But in all their shapes, sizes, and lengths, they seemed to be missing one vital factor: The sharp edge of their blades.

"You wish to end disputes with words and try to minimize whatever fights physically. It's cowardice, child. You are now a shinigami, and as such, you must _think_ like one. It is kill or be killed. There is no reasoning with Hollows. If you see one, you must strike it down without a moment of thought. A moment of hesitance is the difference between your death and the Hollow's." The kimono woman's voice grew intensely serious after that. "From within this graveyard of dull blades is me in my sword form. You must find me inside this vast array of swords within three minutes"—she held out three fingers in her right hand, presenting it to Orihime—"and if you do, then you will be the dominant side once more. However, if you fail . . . I don't need to say what will happen again, do I?"

Orihime clenched her fists involuntarily, and stared at all of the swords stuck into the gray soil. They looked as if they were mocking her very existence, denying her whatever chance she was being given. Doubt began to cloud her mind again.

"Your resolve is the key, child. Once you understand your place, you will find me. So show me. Show me that all I've done for you was not in vain."

And with that, the kimono woman disappeared from her sight. A flash of light blinded her momentarily. When it dissipated and her eyes readjusted themselves to the natural light of the field, the fog was gone. Everywhere Orihime looked she could see thousands of swords stabbing the ground with their dull blades. They must be signifying her hesitance. She didn't like hurting anybody and most likely a dull sword suited her. But it also meant that she wasn't fit for being a shinigami. And if she was not fit for it, she wasn't worthy of the power.

Orihime coughed a bit, inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a loud "HAH!" Her voice was no longer rough but what difference did that make when the kimono woman was already gone? She walked hesitantly to the sword closest to her, observing its long hilt and relatively thick blade, which reached up to the height of her breasts even if it was impaled into the ground, and moved to take hold of the hilt. As her fingers touched the black hilt, Orihime felt a shiver course through her spine and the coldness edging around every part of the sword engulfed her hand.

She saw visions—

"_Blood, more blood . . ."_

"_GET BACK! GET BACK! GWAAAHH!!!"_

_Blood splattering. Red liquid oozing from the dismembered limbs of a man in armor._

"_NO! Please, no! Not my baby! NOT MY BABY!"_

_Stabbing sounds. Maniacal laughter. An infant's cry. More stabbing sounds. _

_The sounds of battle, the cries of the suffering, the whispers of the lost, the pleas of the innocent . . ._

_No more . . . no more . . . no more . . . no more . . . no more . . ._

"_UNWORTHY!!!"_

Orihime reeled back as the sword disintegrated into dust then nothingness. From where she landed unceremoniously on the ground butt-first, she heard the maniacal laughter echo everywhere until it dissolved, too, into nothingness, like a sound produced right next to her ear that was slowly moving farther away from her hearing range. Orihime shivered, not from the cold but from the dread etching deep within her being. _What was that?_ she asked herself. She couldn't stop her hand from shaking.

She was supposed to find only one sword within this graveyard of dull blades, useless in battle and destined to remain here to rust and corrode like garbage. Would she end up like these blades, never to be of help when the situation arises? It was a cruel thought but she already felt like it was the inevitable outcome of this challenge. Even if the kimono woman had told her all she needed to know, it didn't seem enough to help her find just one specific sword among thousands of blades. It was like finding a needle in a haystack.

Orihime sighed and closed her eyes. Was there anything she could possibly do right?

_You are now a shinigami, and as such, you must think like one. It is kill or be killed._

Those words replayed over and over in her mind, like she was trying to decipher some sort of hidden message inside it. Encountering a kill or be killed situation is expected when one becomes a shinigami, but Orihime hadn't prepared herself for that yet. She could defend herself quite well but she wasn't mentally prepared to actually _kill_ someone, even if that someone happened to be a Hollow, the embodiment of instinct and sin that must be defeated to release the souls trapped within. And now she was in a similar predicament. It was kill or be killed—rather, it was more of a 'survive or don't survive' scenario, but the basic structure still applied. She would die if she didn't do anything; she would live if she did do something. But if she were to have a similar experience as the first sword she had tried to pull out . . .

"Pathetic," she said to herself. "You've always been pathetic." But what purpose could she actually have in doing this? Was there even hope that she'd get through all of this? The kimono woman had expected too much of her; she couldn't do this alone.

Orihime didn't open her eyes. There was no need. The outcome had already been decided before this trial even started. It was impossible. To search for a thousand blades for only one in just three minutes was undoubtedly impossible. The answer she sought to find were nothing more but—

A small tug in her mind pushed her out of her inner ramblings. She was having another vision . . .

_She opened her mind's eyes and saw herself standing on top of an electric pole, watching the battle between a square-jawed Hollow and a certain orange-haired shinigami, whom she instantly recognized. Sado and Rukia were there, too, but far away from the battle. A closer look at Ichigo's face made her see the anger seeping out of his eyes like hell fire. She had never seen Ichigo this angry before and knew that his anger was directed at the Hollow, which was laughing in glee as it spat out what looked like big frogs at its enemy._

_She tried to warn Ichigo to get out of the way but found that she couldn't say a word. Ichigo swerved and got hit by the frogs as they splat like water balloons milliseconds after touching him. Dozens of pink walnut-sized objects stuck to Ichigo. She saw the Hollow stick out its tongue with a U-shaped split at its end and felt a sudden vibration coming from its tip. She looked back at Ichigo and saw, to her horror, the walnuts exploding in an outlandish display while she listened to the orange-haired teen's scream of agony._

_She screamed his name—tried to, at least. Tears formed in her eyes as the smoke from the explosion subsided. There stood Ichigo, looking like he bit off more than he could chew, panting heavily as the wounds on his back and shoulders cascaded blood that Orihime had to wonder where all the blood had come from._

"_Damn it . . ." she heard him curse. _

_Her counterpart chuckled._

_Orihime looked at her other self and found she was wearing the same kind of shinigami clothing that Ichigo was wearing. Her other self's chocolate brown eyes watched the battle with a callous expression. This version of her didn't even seem to care whether Ichigo would live or not; but what unnerved her the most was the maniacal grin etched on that shinigami's lips. Her katana was strapped to her waist; the hilt looked almost as long as a twelve-inch ruler. She wanted to help him. She wanted to draw out that katana and stop the Hollow's advance on Ichigo's vulnerable form. She wanted . . . she wanted . . . she wanted . . ._

"Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime opened her eyes, shouting out his name to the empty field. _Empty?_ Though she was sure she was in the same field as before, it was no longer a graveyard of swords. She heard her own echo after shouting Ichigo's surname and concluded that this wasn't an illusion. _But what happened to the swords?_

_**You found it again, child.**_

Orihime turned around, surprised at the voice of the kimono woman behind her. But she didn't see her there. What stood tall before her was a single, long katana impaling the ground with its tip as the sharp edge of its blade reflect and shine the light coming from above. Orihime understood that this was the sword she had been looking for. Her sword.

_I see now,_ Orihime thought. _My power is drawn from my will to fight. If I don't wish to fight, then the sword in my hand would be as useless and dull as the wielder. _She looked apologetically at the katana and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry. If I had known of my mistake earlier, you and I wouldn't be in such a desperate situation."

_**You needed reassurance, child**_, Orihime heard her say in her head. _**The will to fight can only be created by the sheer desire of the person. If it was forced, then it would be weak. You show promise of a powerful shinigami, Orihime, but you lack the determination to become one.**_

"But that's because I am unsure of myself."

_**No, child. You are not unsure, but afraid. Afraid of your heritage, afraid of what you've become, and afraid of what you **_**shall**_** become. I will not lie to you, child. I am still keeping secrets from you, but they are being kept from you for a reason. Once you've proven yourself worthy to wield me, Am*******, then we will begin to slowly unfold these mysteries of your past. But now . . . FIGHT!**_

Orihime nodded, steeled herself, and grabbed the katana's hilt. And with all the strength she had, all the willpower she had garnered to finally see the truth of her shinigami heritage and her destiny, she pulled the sword out of the ground.

"Lend me your strength," she whispered, "and I will lend you my will."

* * *

_**So . . . it has begun . . . take care, princess. **_Brown-eyed 'Orihime' stopped smiling after feeling the sword being pulled out of the ground by only the timid girl's will to fight. She didn't expect that Orihime could actually do it, and that would've meant 'she' could be free to roam in this shinigami spirit body to 'her' liking. Orihime's physical body was almost dead due to the injuries, and it wouldn't be long before reattaching her shinigami spirit to that body becomes impossible. 'She' had hoped that Orihime would fail but also hoped that she would succeed. It's a contradictive logic that didn't seem to have any meaning as to the intentions 'she' had over her. But only time would tell if Orihime was really worthy of the power she had been given. _**Soon . . . real soon, princess . . .**_

Orihime's consciousness pushed 'her' control away, sending her back into the depths of the woman's soul, waiting for the chance to come back out again. 'She' really hoped it would be soon. 'She' just couldn't wait to have some "fun" with Ichigo again . . .

* * *

Ichigo cursed as he dodged another batch of the Hollow's frogs. He got careless before and it ended up with him getting more explosive-induced injuries on his back and shoulders. His arms were still unharmed but the intensity of the pain in his shoulders made it difficult for him to move his sword about, slowing down his swings as the Hollow dodged every one of his attacks with ease. And during the whole thing, the Hollow looked like it was having fun toying with him.

He heard its story. How it had been a serial killer when it was alive; how it had targeted the boy's mother while she did everything in her power to save her child; how it killed the woman in cold blood while her son was there to watch; how it died because of that child, and in revenge killed him as a Hollow and shoved the innocent boy's soul into the body of a cockatiel; and how it told the boy that if he were to stay inside that cockatiel's body for three months, it would bring his mother back to life. Ichigo had turned to Rukia for an explanation but she shook her head negatively, informing him that resurrection was impossible. He had seen the cockatiel say things like "But you promised me you would . . ." and "I thought I was doing this for mommy . . ."

And because of the Hollow's heartless manipulation of a little kid's innocence and need to have his mother back, Ichigo was beyond angry. He was enraged and took that emotion into the forefront as he faced the Hollow again. But the Hollow was prepared and took advantage of his brash movements due to his angered state. He didn't think; he didn't plan. And in the end, he got hurt without landing a single blow on the Hollow. Ichigo was a sitting duck.

But Ichigo wasn't about to give up. He was far from thinking along those lines.

"Give up yet?" the Hollow asked. Ichigo gave him the finger. "Hmph. That's more like it."

Ichigo braced himself for the spitting attack. He already had a plan in mind. The only problem was the distance between him and the Hollow. But it didn't matter. He'd dash right up to it without restraint. The Hollow threw more of its exploding frogs at him. Three hit him and splat like water balloons. He grabbed one with his right hand and squashed it with subdued force.

The Hollow puffed out its chest and laughed. "Bad move, shinigami dirt! Now this is the end for y—"

That was as far as the Hollow could say before Ichigo disappeared from his sight and appeared right in front of it. It tried to escape but Ichigo drove his explosive-laded fist into its mouth. It reacted fast enough to close its mouth, but that didn't stop Ichigo's advancing punch. He pierced through the mask's teeth, and got hold of the annoying tongue that gave him the injuries covering most of his upper body.

The Hollow was looking at him in shock. "What's the matter?" Ichigo asked. "Why don't you use your tongue and blow my hand off?" He squeezed the tongue so hard that the Hollow instinctively took hold of his arm. "If you won't use your dirty tongue then I'll be glad to rid you of it!"

The Hollow tried to say "No!" but due to its tongue still held tightly by the shinigami, it sounded more like a senseless scream. Ichigo pulled with all his might even with the Hollow's hold on his arm keeping him from ruthlessly taking out its tongue. There was a snapping sound and Ichigo jumped back a few feet with a severed tongue in his hand, blood spurting out like a water sprinkler from the open veins of the cutout organ while it wiggled around like the severed tail of a lizard.

The Hollow yelled more incomprehensible babbles now that its tongue was gone.

This was it. Ichigo gripped his zanpakuto with both hands and slashed at the Hollow's mask. It sliced in two as the Hollow screamed to the heavens. Suddenly a beam of light burst out of the cut from the Hollow's mask as the background began forming a red mist.

Ichigo stepped back and witnessed the appearance of a large, black double-door gate with giant skeletons placed in front of each door. The skeletons faced slightly inward with their hands gripping their crack in the middle of the gate. And as the Hollow he had slashed with his zanpakuto screamed and screamed and screamed, the double-door gate slid open like a fusuma (_**df.**_ sliding double doors in Japanese architecture). All Ichigo could see of the other side was red. He felt a shiver run down his spine as the wind blowing from within the red and misty world seemed evil, tainted, and ghastly cold.

"What the hell?" he murmured.

"Those are the Gates of Hell," said Rukia, standing behind Ichigo with her arms crossed. She continued, "A shinigami can only wash away the sins a soul has committed in death. But if a soul has committed sinful deeds when they were still alive, they are brought to Hell for judgment."

The Hollow's mask began to crack; its screams of agony increased in volume as the torn out particles of its white mask disintegrated into the air. Half of its mask had already been "removed," when a giant arm wielding a spear shot out from within the red mist, piercing the Hollow in the groin. No blood spurted out from the tip of the spear, but the Hollow had stopped its screamfest once the shaft of the spear dug into its body. Its hands, which were near its head, dropped down like deadweight. Seconds later, the giant arm pulled itself back, reeling in its catch of the day.

Ichigo sighed in relief. _It's over._

"What the—" Rukia exclaimed. "ICHIGO! WATCH OUT!"

It was too late; it had been too fast for him to react. Right before the Gates of Hell had closed itself up, a shadow exited the mist. It was animalistic in terms of appearance but the thing was too wrapped up in some kind of black shroud that he couldn't figure out _what_ it was. The next second, he heard a static sound and it suddenly disappeared then appeared in front of him. His guard was down and his body had relaxed from the tension during the fight, so Ichigo didn't have enough time to block the claw attack aimed at his midsection.

The shadow slashed with three elongated claws in its left hand, at his stomach. The pain was powerful; his mind had little to no trouble to make him feel that excruciating heat of deep lacerations.

"ICHIGO!" Rukia screamed but it only moved the shadow's attention from him to her. She took a step back, while he tried to recover from the blow. He was panting heavily; wounds plagued every part of his upper body. There was just no end to the cascading blood pouring out of every gash and burns in his body. Most of his bodily functions had already begun to shut down. Nevertheless, he tried his hardest to ready his sword. He mustn't let that _thing_ get to Rukia.

The shadow screeched an ear-piercing scream that sounded similar like a Hollow's howl but, if at all possible, felt darker. Ichigo swung his sword but it was weak and slow. The shadow only stepped to the left to dodge, and then drove its right hand into his chest. He could vaguely feel the long black claws protruding from his back. He coughed out blood as his vision quivered.

"Damn it . . ." he said, as his knees buckled after the _thing_ removed its claws from his chest. He bent down on all fours and breathed in and out heavily. His lungs were pierced, and he had just been luck that his heart hadn't been affected with that attack. If it had, he would already be dead. _What the hell is that thing?_

Ichigo looked up and saw the shadow, looking like a mix between a black panther, a bull, and a human, raised both of its three-fingered hands up as far as they could go. He knew what it was about to do, but he couldn't get his body to move away from the impending fatal attack. _MOVE! MOVE GODDAMMIT MOVE!!!_

The claws swiped down . . .

Ichigo closed his eyes . . .

. . . and heard a CLANG!

He opened his eyes again but his vision had already begun to become blurry, and the only thing he _could_ see was the back of a person with long orange hair.


	6. Her Conclusion

Date written: 18/04/09 – 22/04/09

Posted on FanFiction: 22/04/09

Rewrote with Beta: 02/03/10

Second Rewrite: 28/05/10

* * *

**- CHAPTER 6 -**

**. . . Her Conclusion**

Orihime blinked her eyes a few times before looking directly at the mysterious black gate that was the size of a three-story building. She gasped at the sight, and yelped when the giant, purple arm shot out of the open gate and impaled the Hollow in front of it right in the groin. She saw nothing but red mist beyond the other side. It was almost entrancing; for some reason, she had this sudden urge to enter that place. Her right shoulder suddenly lurched forward, as if being pulled into the gate, which consequently made her lose her balance on the electric pole she had been standing on.

Fortunately, she landed on her feet with the grace of a cat, just as she had before. She found herself in the middle of a street maybe four blocks away from where Ichigo and Rukia were. She had a perfect view of them since she was standing in the same street they were, only she was behind them by about a hundred yards. Rukia was saying something to Ichigo as the body of the Hollow was slowly being pulled into the giant gates. The winds had picked up when those gates opened, reaching as far as where she was, but that did not make Orihime's heart beat rapidly. She felt a presence coming from within the red mist. A dark and dank presence that had a certain grip into her fear, and she couldn't help to shudder from merely feeling the spiritual energy of it. It felt like a Hollow, yet at the same time, it didn't.

Orihime ran towards them with haste when she felt the presence nearing the entrance of the gates, which had started closing after the giant purple arm had snagged its target, the Hollow, and pulled it into the bloody mist. The presence closed in on the remaining gap, dashing faster and faster, using all of its speed to breach through that small space between the doors and enter the Human World. Orihime trusted her instincts when it told her that this Hollow-like entity was an enemy that thirsts for bloodshed. And with Ichigo and Rukia standing in close proximity to the closing gates when that presence would exit them, she was sure its first target would be the first souls it set its eyes on.

The gates closed with a bang and scattered into smaller particles until they became nothing more but dust being carried away by the passing wind. And what stood just in front of the gates—its dark tail wagging and its yellow brown eyes searching its left then right—was a creature of darkness. Except for its eyes, the creature's whole body was shrouded in black, cloaking whatever other color it might be without the shroud. But what made it strange for Orihime was not the color itself, but the shadow enveloping the whole creature. She was sure it wasn't just black. It was almost as if it was sucking up light, turning bright colors into its own batch of darkness. It was humanoid in appearance but it had a long feline tail and two L-shaped horns sticking out of the sides of its head. It had two hands—the arms were almost twice as long as Sado's—with three fingers sprouting very long and nasty claws.

"ICHIGO! WATCH OUT!" Rukia yelled.

Orihime saw Ichigo react too late from the woman's warning as the creature closed the long distance between him and it in just under a second. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw its three black claws burst out of Ichigo's back, blood leaking in spurts.

"Kurosaki-kun . . ." she whispered; her voice lacked volume and it had more to do with her shock than the lump in her throat, although both had actually been the cause of it. She whispered his name again as the creature pulled out, and watched as Ichigo knelt down, his head low, gasping for air while spitting out blood.

The doubts began to plague her mindset yet again, and she was becoming unsure whether she was strong enough to protect the ones she cared about. She had a sword, yes; she had the will to fight, yes; but did she have the intent to kill someone? Her mind and heart might have already decided what to do in this 'kill or be killed' scenario but her morals sure hadn't. Her mind told her that she needed to kill that black creature lest it wreak havoc upon the innocent; she saw the bloodlust in its yellow brown eyes. Her heart wanted to get revenge on that creature for hurting Ichigo, and sank when the thought occurred to her that maybe the wounds Ichigo had taken during battle and the new one the dark creature had given him was enough to sign his death sentence; it was next to impossible for any normal human being to survive after all that abuse. Her heart and mind both demanded the creature's head, demanded that _she _fulfill their needs. Yet her morals didn't share the same sentiments and still wished to avoid the bloodshed that was sure to happen once she drew out her sword.

But if she hesitated, what was the point of her fighting at all?

Orihime didn't want to think about it, but there was definitely no choice to be made. The kimono woman's words came to mind: _It is kill or be killed. There is no reasoning with Hollows. If you see one, you must strike it down without a moment of thought. A moment of hesitance is the difference between your death and the Hollow's_. There was no other way around it, no matter how much Orihime wanted it otherwise.

She took a glance at Ichigo's fallen form and the creature that was slowly returning to him after being momentarily distracted by Rukia. He was slowly trying to stand back up. Even in that state Ichigo was still willing to sacrifice his life to save others. So if Ichigo was able to go so far just to save a person, why couldn't Orihime do the same? But now was not the time to linger in doubts. She had already wasted enough time, hesitating when she couldn't afford to. She had to come to a decision now, and not allow her resolve quiver with doubts any longer.

The creature raised its claws, ready to strike Ichigo down with the final blow.

Orihime instinctively dashed towards them once her resolve had returned to the right direction. The doubts were no longer in the forefront of her mind. She readied her katana as the claws of the creature swooped down for the kill. Everything seemed to go in slow-motion for Orihime as the adrenaline pumped through every part of her body. Her heartbeat was quick; her breath was held; and her gray eyes were steeled like titanium.

With an unconscious step that caused her to skid a bit, she gripped the scabbard of her katana with both hands and used it as a shield for her and Ichigo as the creature's claws came a mere two feet from reaching Ichigo's face. Orihime was on her knees and she sported a small scratch on her right kneecap because of her earlier skid. It didn't hurt her in the slightest. The adrenaline was doing its best to keep her mind off of the mild pain and allowed her to concentrate on the battle ahead.

She pushed the creature away once the power from the attack she blocked was canceled out with her own. She readied her katana and shifted her body, feeling out a natural stance that would give her strength and enough maneuverability.

The creature began to roar like a madman . . . or madbeast. The light-deprived shroud was clearer for her to make out. This creature felt like a Hollow, but with a different kind of aura that made it feel darker; it acted like one in that it relied on its fighting instincts than rational thought—if its recent actions were anything to go by—and most perplexingly was the fact that it had appeared by coming out of the giant gates. Orihime had seen enough of her brother's Hollow's 'disappearing tactic' to realize that how the creature had entered their world was completely different. Though the image of the gates seemed to shout out 'evil,' it didn't feel like it was related to Hollows, which felt like a different sort of darkness. This creature, however, seemed to match the gates because of the feel of its tainted aura. Orihime wanted to ask Rukia if she knew anything about this creature since it was unlike any Hollow she had seen, although she couldn't really know since she only saw two Hollows in her lifetime.

"Inoue . . ." she heard Ichigo murmur before hearing his zanpakuto fall to the ground with a loud _CLANG!_

That must've been the signal the creature needed, for it disappeared from her view and reappeared right in front of her, giving Orihime the impression that it could teleport. But her resolve did not quiver, nor did she flinch from the unexpected swiftness of her enemy. She grasped the ruler-length hilt of her katana, steadied her stance, and unsheathed her blade in a graceful arc . . . and resheathed it not even a second later, leaving behind a clean slice through her enemy, causing it to split in half then dissipate into nothingness.

The people of more than a century ago had called this style 'Battoujutsu.' Orihime didn't know why or how she had this ability and was able to apply it to the situation with graceful integrity and accuracy that one swipe of her blade was enough to defeat her enemy, its corpse flying away through the wind, almost like floating ashes.

But that was not the only thing that expressed the amount of awe etched in her face. Apart from her unknown knowledge of an art she had no idea of knowing—she quickly surmised that it must been an ability she had inherited from the kimono woman since she was also the spirit of her zanpakuto—her sword's appearance was nothing short from being amazing.

If she thought that having a ruler-sized hilt was exaggerating things—the whole length of her sheathed sword was already around two feet, just enough to be considered a katana instead of a wakizashi—then looking at her blade without the scabbard was very . . . surprising. With her short stature of only five feet and two inches, the sword in its scabbard was thankfully short enough to keep from touching the ground, saving Orihime the trouble of having to drag its tip on the ground when to her low waist. But when the blade was removed from its scabbard, you would have realized that the blade was far from what you had imagined. Instead of a two-foot long blade Orihime had expected, what came out was a blade that was twice as long. Her sword was neither a wakizashi nor a katana. It was actually a nodachi, a sword believed to be oversized in regards to the standard length of a katana.

Taking a better look at her nodachi, she found some familiarity to it. The hilt guard, especially. It was in a similar design as her hairpins: Six spikes, like rays of the sun, shooting out between the hilt and blade, along with a circular disc to complete the image of a two-dimensional sun. It resembled that massive ball of heat and light so much that Orihime wondered if it had a connection with her blade and its spirit.

That may be a plausible explanation as to why she only needed one clean sweep to kill (Orihime stiffened when her thoughts lingered on that topic; she felt whatever innocence she had left was slowly, bit-by-bit, withering away) her target. The sun normally meant light and her enemy was shrouded in shadow. Attack them with light and the shadow was sure to lose. But that was only a childish observation brought on by the belief that the light would always conquer the darkness. Orihime might be childish at times but she had suffered enough bad things in life to understand that this illogical thinking would not get her anywhere.

The second plausible explanation—this one being more realistic than the previous one— had to do with the length of her blade. Orihime calculated, almost without her knowing, the distance between her and the approaching creature of darkness. Since she had thought back then that her blade was roughly two feet, she let the creature come close enough so she could slash it without missing. But even then there was a small chance of the creature dodging it because of its speed. Though it seemed both of them had been shocked with the trump card Orihime unknowingly had. Even if the creature had the reaction time to realize that the blade was coming towards it, the arc of Orihime's slash along with the actual length of her blade left no opening for it to do anything but succumb to the wrath and desire of the incredibly sharp blade.

This was unreal.

"Inoue," Rukia spoke to Orihime with a tad of fear and bewilderment. Her fear wasn't towards Orihime or her sword; Rukia was still a little shaken up after narrowly escaping getting torn to pieces by the mysterious creature she had disposed of (she didn't like to word it as 'kill' for the time being) earlier.

Orihime watched Rukia as she stared at her nodachi's length. The blade itself was magnificent, glinting in sunlight even in the presence of twilight. It seemed to radiate its own source of light. Her mind suddenly went to Ichigo, who had successfully sat up during her mesmerized episode with her sword, and he was still in a very bad state.

"Kurosaki-kun!" she cried out, and dashed towards her crush. She was in conflict whether to hug him for being alive or try not to since doing so might worsen his incised wounds. Rukia was the one who reached him first and began healing his wounds with her kidou. Orihime felt a pang of jealousy enter her heart when she saw her move very close to Ichigo but she pushed that feeling away.

The seed of envy was growing . . .

"I thought I told you not to get involved," she heard Ichigo say. Orihime was about to retort to that but it seemed he wasn't finished. "You should let me handle this, Inoue."

Was it a man's pride? No, she knew that Ichigo didn't make pride a priority when his life and everyone else's was on the line. Was it caution? That sounded like a possible motive, but what was there to be cautious about? Didn't he just see her take out the creature that was about to kill him? She risked her life to save his yet he didn't give her a 'thank you' or a small bit of courtesy for helping him out.

At that point, Orihime felt as if her eyes were shifting between gray and brown. It was less of a feeling and more of a certainty as if she was watching a mental image of her eyes distorting in color, turning from a bleached white to the malevolent eye color of her other self. She could even feel her left eye turning brown, her right gray, settling into a heterochromatic effect that left her to wonder why she was even thinking of her eye color at a time like this. She didn't see any kind of significance of the subject with the matter at hand, though she suddenly had an urge to check out Ichigo's abs when Rukia tried to disrobe his upper body. Even with that little problem of trying to keep Rukia's hands off from anything but his wounds, Ichigo still had her attention on her and her alone. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

When she opened them again, that mental image returned and she knew without doubt her eye color changed again, and it was different. It became a combination of both: Brown and gray created khaki-colored irises.

"State a reason," Orihime said, in regards to Ichigo's earlier statement. In her mind, she was thinking _Why should I let you handle this by yourself?_ in an offended tone. Orihime felt baffled at herself for thinking that Ichigo might be a chauvinist and that she had to prove to him that she could be very helpful in the battlefield. She had never antagonized Ichigo like this before.

"Wha—?" Ichigo 'smartly' said. He tried to look at Orihime in the eyes but she turned away before he could even see the new color her irises had adorned.

"State a reason why I shouldn't get involved. And it should be a really good one." Her voice took on a sort of commanding tone that was so completely different from what she was usually like that she wondered if there was anything wrong with her. Her gaze drifted to the pavement to her left, where she saw a trail of red ants droning near the railings of the canal behind her. Did her eyesight improve during this state? It seemed so. While she couldn't look eye-to-eye with Ichigo, she might as well try counting the ants. At least that would give her something to do as she waited for his reply.

She reached forty-three when Ichigo said, "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm not a defenseless girl, Kurosaki-kun," she replied. Her voice came out monotonously, as if she had expected his answer to be that and had prepared a retort without making an effort. "I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

Orihime heard a bit of shuffling in front of her and a low 'Done' spoken by Rukia. She briefly wondered if the raven-haired woman would interrupt their argument.

"Then why?" Orihime asked, still avoiding his gaze. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"Inoue . . ." Ichigo said slowly. "Look at me."

She suppressed the shudder making its way all over her nerves. She didn't want Ichigo to know that her eye color had changed. There was something odd about it—if the improved eyesight was any indication—and if he were to know this, then he might use it as a reason for her to not take up the job of a shinigami. Rukia had briefed her a bit about what 'she' had supposedly done to her brother's Hollow, already understanding that whoever was fighting at the time was not really her. Of course, Ichigo was the one who had placated Rukia when she had shot a barrage of questions about Orihime's history when they thought said girl was still sleeping. Rukia had concluded that Orihime's supposed 'birthright' was an enigma to her. And being enigmatic meant that there was no telling if her powers were good or bad. Was this the reason for his caution?

"Look at me," he said again, more forcefully.

Orihime did as he requested, but shut her eyes.

"Open your eyes, Inoue." There was a trace of annoyance, she noticed, in his voice, but she supposed it was to be expected. How exactly could she look at him if she didn't have her eyes open?

She complied. Her eyelids flew open and she stared at the indifferent expression in Ichigo's brown orbs. _He's not surprised?_ she thought. She had the sudden feeling of hope that maybe her eyes reverted back to gray. Or maybe all of that eye-color-changing feeling was all in her wild imagination. Of course, it was. There was no way for her eyes to change color out of the blue like that. She got worried and scared over nothing at all.

"Your eyes are different," Ichigo stated. "They look almost brown."

Orihime's heart sank. She looked away, closing her eyes, and bit her bottom lip. She bit it hard but not so much that it could pierce the delicate flesh of her pink and moist lips. She felt Rukia staring at her as if there was something Rukia knew about her that'd instantly made her suspicious.

"Rukia," Ichigo said, "do shinigami change their eye color at will?"

"No," Rukia answered without waiting for the question to sink in. "It is unnatural for a shinigami to change their eye color like what just happened to Inoue here."

"I figured as much." Although her eyes were still closed, she had the mental image of Ichigo standing up from the ground, almost falling down again when the abrupt change of posture was an unexpected shock to his legs. "If you want a reason, then I have one now."

"Please, Kurosaki-kun . . ."

The mental image of Ichigo shaking his head came to her. "When you fought that Hollow last night, your eyes were brown. And along with that, you had been a completely different person. The Orihime who fought was cocky, confident, and possibly dangerous."

"But Kuro—"

"It may look like you're in control of your body now, Inoue, but what would happen if the same thing that happened last night happened again?" Another mental image: Ichigo lifting his zanpakuto—Orihime thought he was going to swing it down at her for a second there—and sheathing it into the brown scabbard on his back. There was familiarity in that color, but it didn't have a welcoming response. The brown color; her gray-turned-brown eyes.

"I agree with Ichigo on this," Rukia said. "The origin of your shinigami powers is still a big question mark for us all. If there were any side effects or unknown variables apart from what we saw last night, then I do not think it would be good for you to continue on like this."

". . . Pathetic," Orihime whispered to herself. With her eyes still closed, she turned her head back at the two. "Am I so pathetic that you don't want me to help you?"

"No, it's not like that," Rukia said. "We don't think of you as pathetic, Inoue, but the cons of the situation overwhelm the pros. Unless I look more into the unheard-of transformation of a human soul into a shinigami just moments after death, then we can't risk you using these powers. You weren't awake the last time we saw you with those scary brown eyes, Inoue. You almost drained Ichigo of his reiatsu."

This was something she hadn't been told of. And when she opened her eyes again to look at the man in front of her, she felt something tug in her head and then the feeling she had when her eyes were shifting in color was gone. "Are my eyes okay?" she asked uncertainly.

Ichigo stared directly at her. "Uh . . . yeah," he answered in similar uncertainty. But for some reason, she didn't believe him. Her eyes may be back to their original color but they were far from okay.

"Just what exactly is wrong with me?" Orihime asked, but no one gave her an answer.

* * *

Ichigo sighed as he slumped onto his bed. Checking the digital clock on his bedside desk, he found that it had been three hours since he had slain the serial-killer-turned-Hollow and, courtesy of the creature that had emerged from the Gates of Hell, received a scar the size of a bullet hole between his chest and stomach. It left him to wonder about what that _thing_ that attacked him really was. It surely felt like a Hollow—Orihime and Rukia claimed it felt like that to them, too—but it didn't look like one at all. Asking Rukia was no good because she was as clueless about it as she was of Orihime's birthright, and that was another enigma all by itself. He was sure now that he was afraid of what Orihime might become if that brown-eyed version of her were to appear and be in control again. He kept thinking what if the Orihime he knew disappeared and the other one took over. The only thing that he could think of, at the time, to prevent that from happening was to keep her away from shinigami work.

What a load of bullshit that had been. He tried to keep her away from harm yet she still got herself injured. Well, her physical body anyway. When he and Orihime went to the Kurosaki clinic to get back into their respective bodies, Rukia had to use her kikanshinki (_**df**_: Name of memory modifier) on his family again when his father pronounced Orihime's body as deceased. And thanks to her kidou, Rukia had no problem in healing the severe wounds to Orihime's physical body. Though there was a slight incident when she removed the blankets covering Orihime's physical body. Apparently, his father had stripped Orihime's upper garments probably to further examine the four fatal claw marks on her back. Thankfully, her body was lying face-down on the bed, so Ichigo didn't see much, though that didn't stop the Shinigami Orihime from slapping his face, shouting "DON'T LOOK!" at the top of her lungs. She apologized repeatedly after that, and Ichigo dismissed it while rubbing his _very_ sore cheek. The girl could hit really hard.

But if he had wanted to say something other than accepting her apology, he would've commented that the grotesque image of her back with four bloody incisions was not actually considered eye candy. It was a fact—a _true_ fact—but he didn't want to be considered tactless.

Apart from what happened here in the Kurosaki household, Rukia had also used her kikanshinki on Chad even after Ichigo told her that the guy could swear a pledge of secrecy on the whole thing. Rukia didn't listen and used the device immediately.

"_No one must know of our work,"_ she said to him. _"Especially humans who can't see these dangers."_

He didn't like it and would've given Rukia a piece of his mind, but Orihime stopped him before he could spit out his first curse word. She said to him that what was done was done and arguing about it wouldn't help things. Her gray eyes looked at him, piercing him with such intensity that he couldn't utter a word of reply.

Right now, Orihime was probably sleeping in her bed downstairs in the clinic. She was not discharged—not by a long shot. Though his family had been given a different set of memories where Orihime didn't 'die,' she was still supposed to stay for at least two days until she got better. Apparently, the replaced memories were about Chad bringing in an injured Orihime with several scrapes and contusions prominently on her back. Orihime said she didn't mind sleeping in the clinic for the night; she confided with Ichigo that she was still feeling some phantom pain in her physical body, along with feeling a little weak, which was probably because of the severe blood loss. Ichigo just hoped Orihime won't become anemic.

Well, at least the day didn't turn for the worse. Even now Ichigo was still against the idea of Orihime fighting these battles with Hollows. He was prepared for Orihime to be completely against his proposal when he brought it up again after she saved him from the _thing_, but she didn't do that. She wanted a reason for his actions and he gave it, albeit reluctantly. He didn't want her to know that she might be a danger to not just everyone but also herself, but the cat was out of the bag now. But she took the news with little incident, though he wondered what she meant when she said, "I'm not giving up on my resolve."

If there was one thing he was really sure of, it was that Orihime would not back down that easily.

He rolled to his left and gazed at the closet where a certain raven-haired woman was bunking. He was glad Orihime didn't ask Rukia where she'd be sleeping. It was bad enough that Orihime had asked if Rukia was living in his house—why it was bad for Orihime to know, he couldn't really figure out—but to clarify exactly where she was bunking would make it seem like there was something going on between him and the shinigami. Come to think of it, Rukia had been busy during the past few hours after they got back home. He didn't bother her since she didn't bother him when he had been visiting Orihime in her temporary room. But now, though, he wondered what exactly she had been up to . . .

His last thoughts before he fell asleep were of the _thing_, Rukia and Orihime, and the extremely long sword that had appeared out of and disappeared into a short scabbard.

* * *

Rukia Kuchiki was perplexed over the matter concerning two particular humans. She could understand the male human since he attained his shinigami powers through her. But the female was an enigma. She did a bit of background checking on her and found out a little about her history.

Orihime Inoue once had an older brother who had died when she was only eight or nine years old. That brother had taken care of her since she was only three until the time of his death. There was nothing odd about the siblings but what intrigued her were the parents. Rukia saw some resemblance between Sora Inoue and his parents but none whatsoever with Orihime. For one thing, none of them had the vibrant orange hair the girl had. The mother had gray eyes, which Sora evidently inherited, but they were almost hazel in appearance, but Orihime had perfectly light gray eyes. This didn't really concern Rukia since her main objective was to find the origin of her birthright, not compare physical differences between parent and child. But then—

She was struck with an idea. It was possible—no, it _must_ be what she was looking for. If she was right about this, then there was more to Orihime than she first suspected. The baffling change of her eye color was already putting her mind into a loop, and she hoped that whatever deep shit she'd be digging from here on out wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. Apart from the libraries of Soul Society (that option's scrapped), she could only think of one person that might just have the answers she needed, but she had to be careful in how she got it out of him. The guy could be a very sly bastard if he wanted to be. Well, there was no point going around it. This was already something big and if it weren't for her current energy-depleted predicament and the law she had broken, she would've asked for help from some of her contacts in Soul Society to dig up some of the old tomes in the Kuchiki library and to see if her hunch was right. If it was, then she was practically looking at someone that was likely unheard of in all of Soul Society.

But first things first: Pay a visit to the Urahara Shop tomorrow morning.


	7. The Lost Soul: PART 1

Date written: 05/05/09 – 10/05/09

Posted on FanFiction: 15/05/09

A/N: I finally got back into the swing of things. Well, time for Kon to make his appearance. And also clarify a few things from the previous chapters. The plot is thickening already and I'm having a slightly hard time in keeping things as they should go. One small word might cause inconsistency in the plot. Yeah, that's how deep I'm going, but most of those plot-related contents won't be making an appearance until during and after the Soul Society arc. Oh boy, this'll be quite a ride. Ready for some unexpectedness?

During the times I've read fanfics with changes in Kon's appearance, some of them form a pattern that almost seemed predictable. If someone were to create a Mary Sue-ish story and started to reenact this portion of the series, I would probably guess what they're about to do with Kon's situation: He won't be the only mod soul of the series, as in the Mary Sue or OC of the story will suddenly have a mod soul of their own and will then be named 'Kai' or something. For me, I find that a little . . . unbelievable and disheartening. But I can't actually sign my name out of that category as well, since I had thought about it too. But in the end, I found it too much of a hassle to add a very minor OC in this story just for the purpose of the Mod Soul sub-arc.

It wasn't until I started writing again (while getting a lot of things in back order in my life; I missed a whole lot from the weeks I've been off in the province and I rushed in getting up to speed in everything back here) that this particular chapter consumed me, urging me to continue, continue, continue. This was supposed to be only one chapter long, but I guess it went even longer than that.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 7 ---**

**The Lost Soul**

**PART 1**

Rukia didn't have much time before she had to go begrudgingly to school, so she had to wrap things up with her business with the Urahara Shop as quick as she possibly can. There were no reasons to rush her efforts except to limit the suspicions her substitute, Ichigo Kurosaki, might have. Some peculiar things had occurred after her powers had been sucked out of her soul from that power-hungry (at least, to a part of her mind's opinion of him) teenager. And that may be an understatement. Apart from meeting a rare kind of human who can see ghosts, the century-and-a-half-old shinigami had seen another human possessing shinigami powers. To top it off, she had also bore witness to a creature that none in Soul Society had ever seen before. Rukia was very thorough in reading the books the Shinigami Academy had recommended to the student body when she was still studying there, and none of those ancient-looking texts described the monster she had seen yesterday. It had been a Hollow—she was certain of that—but there was more of it than at first glance . . . or the tingling feeling of dread she had felt when it was slowly nearing her.

Arriving shortly at the little rundown shop of Kisuke Urahara, Rukia's thoughts bolted towards her opinion of the laid-back man. He was the one who had given her the gigai, along with the soul-ejecting glove (Skull Glove, she nicknamed it), the night she had been injured and left powerless. But she was already having second thoughts whether it was a mere coincidence that Urahara was there when she needed things that were unavailable to her until she could get a direct contact with Soul Society, which was quite impossible due to her stripped shinigami powers that were needed for the bridge in the connection between the Human World and Soul Society, or not. He was definitely a sly bastard, and if she was hoping in getting any answers from him she would have to be as sly as him in conversation.

Rukia saw Jinta bullying Ururu again, pulling on her two ponytails after she remarked on him not getting any of their chores done by playing solo-baseball all day. Rukia sighed. "All right, Shorty," she said, "break it up!"

Jinta looked at her, his hands still grabbing Ururu's ponytails. "You again? What do you want this time?"

She did not like the attitude that little kid was showing her, and would've yelled at him to show her some respect but she really needed to speak to Urahara. "Just open the door," she said to him, and then added, "Is your manager awake?"

Jinta scoffed and went to slide open the door to the shop. He didn't answer her question.

"Yes, he is," Ururu said to Rukia, while rubbing her sore scalp. It was a small wonder that none of her hair had fallen off from the pulling. "He was experimenting with some small device he purchased from the mall yesterday."

Rukia nodded and entered the shop. Inside, she saw Tessai inventorying the shelf stocks. He would observe the shelves, counting the amount of supply mentally, then start writing some things down on his clipboard. Normally it was the manager's job to do the inventory work but Rukia guessed that Urahara might be extra busy with that small device Ururu mentioned that left Tessai to do the work instead. It was either that or Urahara might be his slacking self as usual.

Rukia betted her money on the latter.

"Excuse me," Rukia started.

Tessai looked away from the shelves and observed Rukia's direction. "Ah! Kuchiki-dono. If you're looking for the manager, he's at the back, working."

Rukia nodded to him with a quick thank you, and made her way towards the back rooms of the small establishment, slightly wondering if all vendors have this sixth sense that assesses if a customer wants to buy something in their shop or had something else in mind.

The shop was relatively small and compact, a fitting space for a person to sell merchandises that were both legal and 'questionably legal.' More than once did Urahara try to offer her items that have stemmed from the Soul Society black market, and she refused those offers every time. The items themselves looked useful and efficient when dealing with Hollow attacks, but they were known as _questionably legal_ for a reason and that was enough for her to not buy any of them, even if it was at such a low, low price to boot. Urahara had respected her wishes and didn't offer any of those black market items again.

She entered what looked like the living and dining room. There was a square wooden table at the center of the room, with four purple zabuton (Sitting pillow) situated on each of the table's side. The rest was just bare space. Rukia hadn't been inside this room before, but she would admit that the lack of furniture other than the table was a nice touch. It was almost as if Urahara designed this room to accommodate a lot of guests.

Speaking of Urahara, she saw him sitting on one of the zabuton, eyes closed, concentrating on his work and didn't notice his new guest's entrance. He had two white wires going to his ears while humming some tune that was a little catchy. In his hand was a small square-shaped object that was also white with a smaller square and a circle on one side of it. Rukia first thought that it was a new kind of cell phone the humans must've invented, and the difference must be the two white wires connected to the bottom of it, giving Urahara some kind of pleasant feeling because he was smiling more than usual and nodding his head over and over.

Tessai said that Urahara was working; Ururu said that he was experimenting on a device he bought yesterday, which must be the white object he was holding like a cell phone. But Rukia wasn't seeing any kind of 'work.' It looked more like the manager was enjoying himself with this new object of his. He was slacking as usual. The next thing Rukia knew, Urahara was actually singing something.

"_Ima demo! _

_To My Friends, Senaka no hane wa nakushita keredo_

_Mada fushigi na chikara nokotte 'ru _

_To My Friends, Hikari wo daite yume wo miyou yo _

_Hora! Kimi no hitomi ni niji ga kakaru._"

"Urahara," Rukia said.

He wasn't listening. He just kept humming.

"Urahara!" Rukia said again with more decibels than the last.

Urahara jumped from his zabuton and almost dropped the device he was holding. When he saw her, he removed the ends of the wires from his ears and greeted her with that laid-back smile of his. "Ah! Kuchiki-san, I did not see you there." He arranged himself as he took his fan from the table in front of him and started fanning himself. "What can I do for you today?"

Rukia wanted to get to business immediately but her curiosity got the better of her. The object Urahara was holding intrigued her a little. "What is that?" She pointed at the square item in his hand.

"Oh, this." Urahara held up the object. "It's called an iPod. I bought it from the downtown mall. It was on sale, too! Twenty-five percent discounts are quite rare for gadgets as popular as this around here in Karakura."

Rukia tried to picture Urahara going to a gadget shop in a crowded mall wearing nothing but that old-fashioned clothing that almost made him look like a drifter; his green- and white-striped hat shadowing his features while the sly smile adorned his lips just emphasized that appearance. He would go up to the store clerk, who was a brunette female with long and wavy hair, and ask if there were any items he could afford. The woman clerk would show him the things they have in the store, and when Urahara made his purchase he'd smile that laid-back smile, only to her it would look like a leer due to the shadow of his hat; the next thing Urahara would know was that the clerk shivered in fear and then called for security, saying that a bad drifter man was harassing her. Hmm . . . probably too exaggerated but it _was_ a little entertaining to think about. She then wondered if the guy actually caused some trouble over at downtown.

"You see, Kuchiki-san," Urahara continued, showing off his precious iPod like a six-year-old showing to his friends a new toy his parents bought him. "This gadget lets you listen to music with the earphones you place in each of your ear. I had been listening to some of the songs I asked the clerk to upload into my iPod. They're very catchy, you know."

"I'm not here to listen to you gloat about your toy all day, Urahara," Rukia said with obvious annoyance etched in her tone. "I'm here because of more pressing matters."

"What would that be, I wonder?"

"You sensed it, too, didn't you? Yesterday, southwest of the Hiraku district."

There was no change in expression on the shopkeeper's face except for the questionable look he was giving the shinigami. "Whatever do you mean, Kuchiki-san? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can be of much help if you don't tell me straight out what it is you're asking me of."

"I'm talking about the Hollow that exited the Gates of Hell. I know you know something about that, Urahara."

"I do not know what you're talking about. But I _am_ curious over this Hollow that you speak of." He closed his fan, his face solemn. "I've never heard of a Hollow exiting Hell before."

Rukia wasn't buying his straight face and the way how he handled himself by trying to be completely oblivious of the whole thing. The Hiraku district, where that shadow-like Hollow came out of the Gates, was close to downtown. And if Urahara had been at one of the downtown malls yesterday, then he would've no doubt sensed that tainted presence without much difficulty. To see him act around as if he knew nothing of it really pissed her off. And if it wasn't for the emotion-masking ability she had learned after being adopted by the noble Kuchiki clan, she might've snapped at him for taking this situation so lightly as if he didn't care about this at all.

She neared the shopkeeper and grabbed both of his shoulders, her eyes as stern and dangerous as a tiger's. "Do not play games with me, Urahara. I know you know."

"And you won't stop harassing me until you get some answers, am I right?"

"That's better. Now start talking."

Urahara cleared his throat, set down his fan back onto the table, and waited for Rukia to release her hold on his shoulders. She received his nonverbal message to let go and complied. When she sat down on the zabuton, he began. "I only know little about this strange phenomenon, Kuchiki-san, since I've only learned of it yesterday. Still, that was enough for me to do some mild research over that creature's appearance . . . while having some time with my new iPod, of course! Anyway, that creature was definitely a Hollow."

"But how so? I've never encountered such a Hollow before. It almost felt like an evil soul that had escaped its prison in Hell."

"That thought crossed my mind, too, actually. But the possibility of a prisoner of Hell escaping its clutches right under their noses is nullified by the fact that no one—and I mean _no one_—can escape Hell once you've been sentenced to it. Just as much as ordinary souls cannot exit Soul Society unless it was time for their turn in the cycle of rebirth or they become official shinigami."

"So this could be a new species of Hollow we are not aware of?" Rukia was all-ears for Urahara's answer. But she was in for a surprise when the shopkeeper shook his head negatively. "Then what in the world was that creature?"

"There's more to it than that. It was theorized, but never really proven or tested due to the risks involved . . . until now, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

What Rukia saw in Urahara's face was an expression of utmost solemnity and graveness. The older man looked like he had faced something far worse than the demons that watch over the punishments in Hell. His eyes portrayed an almost broken man that experienced something in his life that he either condemned himself to live it over and over within his mentality or became afraid to face that part of his inner demons. She had known a lot of shinigami who had breakdowns due to stress, anxiety, and also traumatic events. The image Urahara was showing to the young shinigami exceeded the horrible things her fellow shinigami had exhibited. It almost seemed like he was dying inside just recalling about it. Just what do these creatures mean to him?

"Kuchiki-san, you know of my crimes in Soul Society, correct?"

"Very vaguely," she answered, and she was telling the truth. She consulted a few books over the incident that shredded the ranks of some of the Divisions of the Gotei 13. Eight shinigami had been pronounced missing, and no such luck in tracing them—or even their corpses—from the search parties. "The reports they have over the incident a hundred years ago had lots of holes, so I kept an open mind when first meeting you."

"And business boomed when you became one of our frequent customers," he commented. "But what if I told you that I did what I did to help out an old friend? What would your opinion of me be, then?"

"Who is this 'old friend'?"

"That would be an invasion of his privacy if I told you that."

Rukia wanted to retort that Urahara's old friend was a 'he,' but she thought better of it. If she were to say that, then Urahara would then be on-guard in what he will say next. It was best to keep his tongue as loose as it is lest she won't be getting any more valuable info from him without force. And she tended to avoid that at all costs.

"But surely you'd tell me something about this friend of yours," she said. "How can I judge you if I don't even know what kind of friend you have? You _are_ dealing in shady businesses, after all."

Urahara laughed. "You know me well, Kuchiki-san," he said, "but you know nothing of my past. I won't tell you anything about him—even his name—except that he had been a member of the Zero Division."

"The Zero Division?" _What is he talking about? There are only thirteen divisions of the Gotei 13._

"Only captains know of this secretive Division, Kuchiki-san, so I'm not surprised you are unaware of their existence. They are, in fact, former captains who were promoted into that Division. They no longer answer to the authority of Soul Society; not even Chamber 46 has jurisdiction over what they do. The only person they answer to is the Spirit King. In other words, they are the Spirit King's own personal bodyguards."

Rukia widened her eyes. "The Spirit King?" she repeated. And when the information finally sank into her head, she realized something. "You said your friend _had been_ a member of the Zero Division. What happened to him?"

"He was chosen and promoted to the Zero Division due to his . . . uh, _unique_ condition; few know of it, as well. It wasn't until he had been promoted that Yamamoto-taicho and Chamber 46 learned of his condition. If they had known beforehand, my friend would've been executed as it was a forbidden act to possess such abilities in Soul Society. I guess he had been lucky at the time when the Spirit King took interest in him. I've befriended him even before I'd been a member of the 2nd Division. But I digress. The truth is I never really knew what happened to him. After I was exiled, I only saw him again once, which was eighteen years ago, asking a favor from me. And that was a haste reunion; he looked like he was in a real hurry, so I quickly obliged to his little request. The only thing he told me for certain is that he's being hunted down by the Zero Division; never told me why, but I suspected it had something to do with his _condition_. I never heard from him since."

Rukia nodded. "You still haven't explained about the Hollow."

"Ah, yes. Almost forgot about that."

_Liar,_ she thought. _You were trying to change the subject, so you wouldn't need to answer my earlier questions. Don't think I don't know how sly you are in changing the topics, Urahara. You're not getting away from me until I have some answers._

Urahara cleared his throat. "Because this was only theorized before, I never really took time in researching more from it. The consequences were too much for me to do so. But I guess someone else was brave enough to risk everything in their research."

"Research? Research of what?"

"Of Hollow manipulation," Urahara said gravely. "What you've seen may have been the product of an experiment gone awry in Hollow manipulation. My resources are scarce concerning this, so I can only give you some small bit of information about a similar project conducted by an independent group in Soul Society a thousand years ago."

"What was the purpose of this project?"

"People back then were primitive, and science hadn't always been the answer to them. And at the same time, the laws weren't completely absolute, so there were plenty of hoodlums and lawbenders—not breakers—running around Soul Society. One such group of lawbenders conducted a little project about Hollows. They had been confident that their experiments would revolutionize the way shinigami could take care of the 'Hollow pest problem' as they put it. To do so, they captured live specimens of Hollow into their labs and manipulated its soul's genetic makeup, learning how they came to be, how their bodies work, et cetera. Their enthusiasm over their project caused mass hysteria, however, when one of their specimens got loose in Rukongai. The project was abandoned, the captured Hollows slain, and everyone involved had been arrested and executed not long after."

"And this creature that I've seen yesterday was a Hollow that had been experimented on just recently?"

"That may be. But it could also be one of the other experimented Hollows a millennium ago. The mass hysteria caused a few more of them to escape their cages; fewer stuck around in Soul Society. Though why they're in Hell than in the Hollow World, I have no idea except, maybe, that someone has revived the project and my earlier statement is false. That Hollow really could have been the product of a recent experiment."

Rukia gulped. She felt that tainted presence before, and she hoped she wouldn't feel it again. It was like being threatened at knifepoint and the tiniest of movement could make that blade swipe her head off without resistance. She had been paralyzed during that encounter, and she had dreaded to move lest that imaginary blade were to cut off her neck like a hot knife through butter. What Urahara was saying was that there could be more of these creatures lurking about and Soul Society may as well be ill-prepared to take care of the problem.

"I see." Though a million thoughts were processing in her head. Most were leaning on the worst-case scenarios. Quite pessimistic. To know more about this new kind of Hollow created through artificial means unnerved her. "What was the gain in creating these altered Hollows? Do you know?"

Urahara shook his head. "I don't. There doesn't seem to be any particular gain. Whatever reasons those people from back then had were taken to their second death. None of the authorities bothered in taking their statements as to why they did what they did, only they've wronged the whole of Soul Society and must be punished severely for it. That's why I didn't bother stepping my foot on that particular branch of research. I didn't see any gain from it, and I'd be endangering Soul Society with a creature they were not prepared to fight."

Then they were silent. There were plenty of questions to ask, but very little time to do so.

Speaking of time, Rukia realized that she spent too much of it talking with Urahara that she was certain she was already late for class. But she put that thought aside; this concerned Soul Society greatly and she didn't have time to worry about being tardy and keeping secrets from her representative (though she wouldn't mind doing it from time to time, just to spite the guy). But anyhow, she only needed to ask one more thing from Urahara. And her hunch told her that he might have the answers to the mysteries surrounding a particular orange-haired female.

"I only have one more question to ask you, Urahara, then I'll take my leave," Rukia said. When he made no movement and only stared at her with a serious expression, she asked the question: "Is it possible for a shinigami and a human to bear a child together?"

* * *

Ten days passed. Ten days had passed since the Gates of Hell opened, since she finally found her will to fight. Orihime had been working hard to get as far as she could in training with a sword, even if it was only eight days ago when she started the Kendo lessons. Tatsuki had introduced her cousin to Orihime, prompted by the woman's request in finding a sword trainer. Tatsuki had quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, stating nonverbally that she wanted to know the reason for her intentions in knowing how to wield a sword. Orihime's answer was simple: "You taught me Karate, so why don't I learn Kendo as well?"

The logic in that was a little weak, since there wouldn't really be a reason for her to learn Kendo as self-defense when she was already in par with a second dan black belt in Karate. Orihime didn't like lying to her friend, but this was something she needed to do alone and involving Tatsuki, whom did not share the same kind of spirit sensitivity like her and Ichigo, unnecessarily would just put her in danger. The power within Orihime was strong and she willed herself to try and use it.

When the introductions between her and Tatsuki's cousin were over and done with, they immediately went down to business in the dojo. Her new instructor didn't take it easy on her even when he knew that Orihime had recently been dispatched from the Kurosaki clinic due to injuries from an accident she was indirectly involved in. But Orihime wanted him to be rough (and don't get any smart ideas, perverts) because it was the only way for her to improve substantially in a short span of time.

During the second day of their training, Orihime sparred with Tatsuki's cousin. Needless to say, she got her butt handled in so many ways she'll be feeling more bruises than the ones on her back in the morning.

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Inoue-san," he had said to her, his voice serious though a little worried. He was a second year college student whose classes were in the morning, so he had plenty of free time in the afternoon to teach Orihime. He imposed himself as a strict, dictator-like person but Orihime knew that he had a very soft side he only showed to very close friends and people he admired. When he said those words to her, it was actually a rare occasion for someone like him to get worried over an acquaintance he only met yesterday, according to Tatsuki.

Though those words helped her face a bit of the reality she was facing, it still didn't quiver her determination. Her will to fight was strong, and it would take a major hit for it to back down like a whining puppy. Orihime's first day of Kendo lessons was all about stances and the proper handling of the wooden sword she had in her hands, while the second day was a little bit of sparring since she had no problems with the basic positions and stuff. The cousin also told her that it was a good way for him to assess her current capabilities, but, after her second fall on the mat, immediately surmised that she may not be ready for an actual spar just yet. He said he admired her determination but, like he said before, Rome wasn't built in a day. So she replied to him, "But I'm not Rome. Therefore I'll get a hit on you before this session is over."

The cousin was . . . shocked for some reason. He looked towards Tatsuki, who was on the sidelines, watching their spar . . . or rather a pseudo-spar; the guy was taking it _real_ easy for her. He knocked on his head twice then pointed at Orihime. Tatsuki shrugged, not really knowing the answer to his inquiry. But she did smile. How odd . . . maybe it was a cousin thing.

The rest of the training sessions passed by with little problems and a whole heap of bruises. Orihime made sure to hide them so not to make anyone worry (other than Tatsuki, she supposed) or inquire about where she got them. But mostly, she didn't want Ichigo to find out about her Kendo lessons because he would definitely take it as a sign that she wasn't giving up on her newfound power. Though that wouldn't be much of a problem either way. Apart from her second 'death' in the Kurosaki clinic, Orihime never figured out how to eject her soul from her body. And whether Ichigo were to find out about her lessons or not, she still wouldn't be able to help him if she couldn't go 'shinigami' in the snap of a finger.

The only way to do so was to be palm-slapped by Rukia with that red- and blue-colored glove. And the chances of the raven-haired girl complying to do that particular request to Orihime was slim to none.

Orihime snapped out of her thoughts just for her to hear Rukia ask Ichigo to meet her on the roof during lunch. She said it was urgent. Orihime half-thought to sneak up to the roof and listen to their conversation but she knew that it wouldn't end well for her. The two of them would be talking about shinigami duties and her eavesdropping won't really get them anywhere, even if she'd try and pitch in some of the work they already made clear that she will not be involved in. But the student body might have different ideas altogether. Rukia had already enrolled into the school two weeks ago and she was fast becoming one of the most popular girls in class, not because of her grades (most of them were bad; the only good one was Japanese literature) or her damsel-like demeanor (though it did fling the majority of the boys in class to her) but because she was an enigma. And apparently, according to the many rumors Orihime heard flying about in the classroom and the school in general, Ichigo was fast becoming the one Rukia was setting her eyes on. And if she were to start stalking them, it would look like a love triangle—with her side being a one-sided love or something. Rumors didn't really bother her but what about the impact that kind of gossip could do to them in the future? She didn't really know but Orihime couldn't put it to chance and let Fate do its role. But there was probably an unconscious reason as to why she wanted to eavesdrop or even intervene in their conversation. She guessed it was just that the thought of Ichigo and Rukia becoming an item—even if it was only in rumor—made her heart sank deeper than the sea of pity within her being.

. . . And the seed of envy was quickly sprouting.

Class then began and sooner than she expected, it was already lunchtime. Time seemed to flow right by without a pit stop if your thoughts overwhelm most of your brain's activities. The fact that she hadn't thought about anything else other than the supposed meeting between Ichigo and Rukia (she suddenly had a flashback when Ichigo called her out in a similar manner almost two weeks ago) just shouted the word 'worry' all over her mind.

Orihime sighed as she took out her unique delicacy for today: French bread with her favorite filling, red bean paste. Red bean paste was supposed to make her feel happy—it was like a cuisine for her if a dish had this, and she'd happily oblige in eating all of it. But now, just the sight of it was trying to make her stomach heave out bile, like smelling a sweaty, two-day-old shirt that was wrapped in plastic and the reek of it, if you smell it more than once, would give you a headache and the desire to throw up your lunch onto the floor.

"Problems?" Tatsuki asked her, shooting meaningful glances at Ichigo, who was following Rukia out of the classroom.

Orihime stared at the entranceway until the door slid back with a loud rustle that only she could hear with so much force that it felt like she was listening to an airplane taking off. _They're shutting me away_, she thought gloomily. _They're pushing me away._

"Orihime?"

"Heh?"

Tatsuki placed both of her forearms on the assembled table they made, crossing them on each other then leaning closer to her as if to observe the girl more up-close. But in actuality: "Is this about what happened between you and Ichigo on the roof two weeks ago?" she whispered to her, so as not to be heard by the girls who were approaching their table.

Orihime shook her head. "No, not at all." _Yes, everything went downhill from there._ "I'm fine, really." _I'm torn, really. I feel like my hearts killing me slowly._

Tatsuki looked like she wasn't buying her statements one bit and might've said something to her, if it weren't for Chizuru's immediate intervention.

"Oh Hime," Chizuru said enthusiastically with a wide smile. "May we eat lunch with you today?" She gestured towards the others.

Orihime nodded. "Sure."

Chizuru's smile faltered a bit. "Hime, are you all right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know it's just that"—she paused, trying to think of the right words to say—"you look a little gloomy today."

"Orihime-chan, gloomy?" one of the girls muttered in disbelief. "I thought that was impossible."

"It _is_ impossible," another girl replied to the first, "unless, of course, someone _made_ her feel gloomy."

Chizuru gasped and quickly glomped herself onto Orihime. "Oh my Hime! A guy must've made you sad, didn't they? Don't worry. You can cry with your heart's content into my bosom, and I will slowly teach you the reasons why men are no-no's in a relationship. And I will then—"

Whatever Chizuru was about to say next was cut short when Tatsuki put her in a chokehold. She looked a little pissed off. "And a relationship with you," she said in the same tone as Chizuru's, "is a no-no, too. So . . . KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF!"

SLAM!

From chokehold to grabbing the redhead's waist and initiating a powerful German suplex, head banging onto the floor with a THUD that almost sounded like a CRACK instead. It was an instant smackdown. Steam was rising out of Chizuru's head.

* * *

From the distance, Keigo muttered, "The lesbian is wearing black?"

He quickly burned the image out of his head. Not because it was a _disturbing_ thing to see (but if it were any other girl, he'd jump at the opportunity to embed it forever into his head), but because he felt his heart leap at the sight. He must be feeling sick for some reason. He didn't find the redhead attractive at all. Not one bit. Not one bit. _Not one bit!_

* * *

"I think you overdid it, Tatsuki-chan," Orihime said.

"Ah, she deserved it." Tatsuki crossed her arms. "But, for once in her life, her intuition may be correct. Is there something I should know about, Orihime?"

Tatsuki was looking at her with worry a friend would usually show if something was wrong that Orihime almost burst out all the negativity she harbored ever since the night her life changed through death. Orihime opened her mouth to say something.

Without warning, someone climbed onto the window beside them. It took a second later to realize that it was Ichigo with a smug look on his face, and another second to realize that he had just jumped into the room with a window on the _third floor_. Tatsuki and the others were in disbelief, while Ichigo just stood there, looking at everyone.

"This is freshmen class 3, right?" he asked, though that smug look on his face didn't show any kind of perplexity but rather a subtle liking in the perplexity of others. A slight irony, it seemed.

Everybody in class stopped what they were previously doing and turned their attention on the sole person standing at the window.

Orihime looked closely at Ichigo. There was something . . . different about him, somehow. Maybe it was the lack of a scowl. Maybe it was the smile (first time she'd ever seen him smile, too). Maybe it was the fact that he jumped up three stories. She wasn't exactly sure, but she _knew_ something was different.

"Y—you!" Tatsuki brought up an accusing finger at Ichigo, who was still standing tall and amused at the ruckus he made. "How the heck did you get up here?"

"You're asking how, but isn't it obvious?" he said rhetorically. "I jumped up." He smiled even more after that. "What do you think? Cool, huh? You're shocked, huh?"

A few were muttering in disbelief; some went as far as to scoff and say that Ichigo must've just jumped from the next door window, even though it was almost impossible to do so since a) the gap between that window and the one next door was around six or seven feet, and b) he appeared from below, not from the side, which proved even more that he jumped from the ground.

But Orihime was finally seeing something wrong with Ichigo. The Ichigo she knew didn't like basking in attention like some crazed attention-seeker. And never had she seen Ichigo scanning the whole room with that predatory look as if he was hunting for some mate so he can do the 'nasty' with her. She realized then that Ichigo was only looking at the girls in the class, sizing them up like an alpha male. His eyes turned towards her and, for a second, Orihime could've sworn she saw stars in his eyes.

Before she could react, Ichigo rushed to her side and gently took hold of her hand. Orihime blushed a little at the contact. And blushed even more, almost rivaling the shade of a tomato, when Ichigo started rubbing the back of her palm affectionately. The blood was rushing all over her head that she almost felt like passing out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, beautiful young lady," he said, acting like Romeo speaking romantically to his Juliet. "Won't thou giveth me the honor of knowing thy name?"

Orihime saw him move his head towards her hand. She felt something wet planting on the center of her hand, blasting a pleasurable shiver all over her body. Her blush magnified in such a way that its shade would no longer have any rivalry with a tomato; the tomato would lose, hands down. But then something tugged within her mentality. A voice of reason in the jumbling thoughts putting chaos within every nook and cranny inside her intellect that began and soon escalated when Ichigo first touched her.

_**Is this really Ichigo?**_

The voice of reason was loud, clear, and undeniably vivid in uttering those four words. But it also held a tiny form of disgust, as if it felt dirtied from the kiss Ichigo planted on Orihime's hand.

Orihime suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

Ichigo stepped back, looking a little frightened by the change in her demeanor. But he straightened himself up quickly and answered, "Why I'm Ichigo Kurosaki, young lady."

"You _look_ like Ichigo Kurosaki-kun, you mean," she corrected. "Kurosaki-kun doesn't act the way you do."

Ichigo was now looking at her wide eyes. He took a few steps back. "Busted, huh?" he muttered, but Orihime heard him clearly.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

Ichigo looked at her straight in the eye, and she found herself staring at brown hollow orbs. They didn't show malice or killing intent. None at all. But the emptiness of them, the void present within the vibrant brown eyes she had seen almost every day and how her heart would flutter every time their gazes made contact with each other was enough to unnerve her greatly. This wasn't Ichigo, of that she was sure now.

"Who knows," he answered mysteriously. The smug was back and looked more menacing than just mere complacency.

"Hey, Ichigo!" Tatsuki exclaimed, grabbing Ichigo's collar and pulling his face near hers. "What's the big idea kissing Orihime's hand like some third-class actor playing Casanova, huh?"

Ichigo blinked a few times at her, slightly confused, before a grin played around his lips. "You know, you're actually pretty cute up-close." And before Tatsuki could react, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Orihime didn't feel a pang of jealousy this time. She already understood that this was not Ichigo, though it did give her a mental image of what Tatsuki's boyfriend might be like. Tatsuki and Ichigo . . . hmm, could be but maybe not meant to be.

Every girl, excluding Orihime and Tatsuki, were screaming in horror.

Tatsuki's cheeks were blooming with that familiar tomato shade as she touched the spot where Ichigo's lips had kissed her. But Orihime realized that the blush her best friend had was a combination of two emotions that readily brought out a reddish tint in anyone's face. One was embarrassment. The other was rage. And Tatsuki had plenty of the latter. So much that Orihime felt Tatsuki's reiatsu flare up in-sync with her anger. It was small and very mild—a normal reading for any emotional person, from what Rukia told her about reiatsu—but definitely there. And if her hunch was right, Tatsuki would be demanding for blood right about now. This time, however . . . it won't be _just_ a figure of speech.

"YOU BASTARD!" Tatsuki screamed. She grabbed a nearby table and threw it at Ichigo. He easily dodged it, and it flew right out the window. Glass shattered and the rest of the students in the class were backing away from the front of the room. Tatsuki didn't seem to care for that, however. She just took another table and hurled it at the orange-haired male.

"Tatsuki-chan! Stop it, please!" Orihime tried to pacify her friend but it was no good.

"What's wrong with you," Ichigo said as he dodged another chair thrown at his way, "acting all upset over just a kiss on the cheek? What are you, a third grader?"

"Shut up!"

Another chair thrown; he dodged yet again. _This might go on until the end of lunchtime_, Orihime thought. But just then, the door to the room slid open and in came a person she was happy to see.

"Kuchiki-san!" _Maybe _she_ has some answers._

"You," Rukia said with narrowed eyes at Ichigo. Orihime saw Ichigo looking like he was found with his hands inside the cookie jar.

"Crap!" he cursed and abruptly ran towards the open window. He was almost near it when a person garbed in black clothing jumped up onto it in a similar manner as the person currently running towards it.

"Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime gasped. There were two Ichigos. One in physical form; the other in shinigami form. What was going on here?

"Stop right there," Shinigami Ichigo said. "You're not going anywhere with my body. Rukia!"

"Ready!" she replied, adjusting the soul-ejecting glove in her right hand.

Shinigami Ichigo dashed up to his enemy and hoped to grab him by the shoulders, but Fake Ichigo was somehow too fast for him to get a hold on. Fake Ichigo swiftly dodged to the left and kicked Shinigami Ichigo on the face, following it up with a seven-combo kick all straight at his abdomen. The force of the kick was incredibly powerful that Orihime saw Shinigami Ichigo slowly rising up the air from the impact of each kick. He ended the onslaught by directing his kick towards the back of the room, where Shinigami Ichigo was pushed and dragged to the floor by the mere force of the attack, hitting the tables and chairs along the way.

Orihime was stunned at the fight. Ichigo had no chance in fighting the fake, but she thought she might be able to help. If what she observed from the fight as well as the situation was correct, then the Ichigo in shinigami garbs was the real Ichigo while the one in the physical body must be someone who was possessing it, sort of like that scary entity from the Exorcist. The only way, it seemed, to get rid of the possession was to use Rukia's soul-ejecting glove on the fake Ichigo. Rukia only needed time to get close to the target and slap his palm on their head. Ichigo was supposed to be the distraction for that plan, but it was already foiled before it even started. That's why she thought she could be of some help. She was not an unofficial second degree Karate black belter for nothing, after all. One of the things she learned from Tatsuki's lessons was the way of subduing your opponents, giving you time to escape. She said it would help when you're being overwhelmed by a gang of molesters (Tatsuki had almost said 'rapists' instead, but Orihime still got the message) and give you that extra time to make a quick getaway. Now it was time to actually use those lessons to the test.

Before attacking, Orihime wondered why she instantly had such insight of the situation when chaos was flooding her very mindset before then. And the answer clicked just as quickly as she had observed and understood everything that had transpired in the span of five seconds.

It was the voice of reason again. But where was that voice of reason actually coming from?

Never mind, for now. Fake Ichigo was about to escape through the window. Orihime quickly intercepted him before he can come close to it. He sneered before trying to make his way around her. She cut him off just as fast. Fake Ichigo now looked desperate as Rukia was slowly making her way towards them. Whatever respect he had to her was now gone as he deliberately tried to strike with a backhand at her. But with her self-defense training, she was able to block it with minimal contact, changing the course of the kinetic energy, and immediately went for a counterattack. Only this counter was in a chokehold the same as the one Tatsuki did to Chizuru. Her frame was quite smaller than Ichigo's body, but her advantage in this hold was quite enough to make up for it. It actually took Tatsuki around ten seconds to escape from her hold the last time they sparred.

"Hold him still!" Rukia shouted as she began dashing towards them, her palm ready for the strike.

Fake Ichigo squirmed and did everything he could to try and escape, but Orihime's chokehold was strong and whenever he tried to get a grip on her forearms or try to elbow her from behind, she surprisingly prevented any of these things with ease. She only needed to attack him in the vulnerable places as distractions (like strengthening the grip on the hold, squeezing up his throat, just when he was about to grab hold of her forearm; kicking him at the back of the knee when he was about to elbow her; and shaking him around while slowly but surely increasing the pressure on the hold). The only thing she was doing was buying time, and it only took around three or four seconds for Rukia to step next to them and initiate her palm strike.

But two seconds before it could come, Fake Ichigo whispered to Orihime, "Nice rack." He was then rubbing his back onto the body part where it was making contact with: Her big chest.

Orihime reacted as any female who would be situated in such a way that a man was 'getting a feel' in an indirect way. Her concentration quivered and her hold on him hesitated. But that was all he needed to grab her arm (one on her forearm, the other on her bicep) and hurl her sideways straight towards Rukia, her palm still extended.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. But the end result was that mattered. Rukia's palm made a pinpoint hit on Orihime's forehead, ejecting her soul right of her body which slumped to the floor like how a dead man falls after getting shot in the head, her eyes glazed and soulless.

Everything was in a world of colors before Orihime got her bearings straight again. She was sitting not too far away from where her body had dropped dead to the floor without anything to cushion the fall. She was now in her shinigami form. Most of her classmates shouted her name, worried over her physical body's condition, but they paid no attention to where her soul was at. Of course, they were only ordinary humans. They couldn't see souls. So—

"Orihime?"

—why was Tatsuki looking at her and not her physical body?

"W—what's going on?" Tatsuki asked.

Their talk was cut short when Orihime saw Fake Ichigo jump towards the window. "Later," he said, disappeared from her sight.

"Hey!" Shinigami Ichigo yelled. But when he got to the window, he hit his fist at the wall. "Dammit!"

Rukia joined him at the window a few moments later. Her face had that disbelief look, as if the ruckus caused by them was impossible. "It can't be," Orihime heard her mutter.

"What the hell kind of guy was that?" Ichigo questioned, obviously angry. And he must be. His body just got stolen by the person possessing it. "If those Gikongan (Replacement soul) things are suppose to act that way, then you can take it back where you bought it, Rukia. Once we get my body back I'm not taking any more."

"Gikongan don't act like this," she replied, "unless they're not ordinary Gikongan."

"What?"

"That was not a Gikongan. That was a Modified Soul."

"Modified—?" He paused. And then said, "Look, you can explain on the way. Right now we need to catch this guy."

Ichigo jumped out of the window as Rukia nodded. She turned around and ran out of the classroom. Both of them didn't even notice Orihime looking and listening to them. By now, most of the students were crowding on Orihime's body, some were panicking and saying they should call the nurse.

Most of them, that is. One student, however, was not joining her classmates' frantic situation, though she did have a very puzzled expression as she stared at—for an ordinary human—nothing. But to a spirit-sensitive's eyes, they would see an orange-haired woman wearing a black kimono. "Orihime," Tatsuki said.

"Tatsuki-chan." Orihime was surprised. Tatsuki can _see_ her. What did that mean? Did she have spirit sensitivity like she did? But she never showed any kind of power or knowledge in seeing the dead before. So why now?

Even though there was doubt in the thought that Tatsuki might be able to see spirits, Orihime really didn't have time to be brainstorming like that at a time as crucial as now. Ichigo's body was stolen and her body was being crowded by over a dozen of her classmates. It wouldn't be long before they found out her body wasn't breathing. This was a decision she had to make quickly. Should she go back into her body and wait for Ichigo and Rukia to come back? Or should she let her body stay this way and help them out?

But then she realized she didn't need to think this over. If she thought about it this would be her chance to show those two the fruits of her labor. She looked at herself. She felt complete control over her shinigami form. No voices. No drowsiness or bouts of unconsciousness. And no feeling of her irises shifting into the malevolent shade of brown. She was in control. _Complete_ control. Her will to fight was strong and it would take an atomic bomb or something of that magnitude to make it quiver. Yes, the decision had already been made.

"Tatsuki-chan." Said girl listened to her. "If you can hear me, then please make sure that my body is safe." Orihime pointed at the crowding students. One student, Chizuru, pushed most of them back, saying they should give Orihime some air . . . not that it would make much difference since her body wasn't breathing at all but the redhead—or any of them, for that matter—didn't need to know that. "I'll explain everything when I come back."

Tatsuki nodded, determination and trust were in her eyes.

_Thank you, Tatsuki-chan._

Without further time to waste, Orihime leapt out of the window and quickly made haste to catch up to Ichigo and Rukia, and their pursuit of Ichigo's body.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

The small verse I had Urahara sing was the first chorus of _Boku-tachi wa Tenshi Datta_ (_We were Angels_ in English). That was the 2nd Ending theme song of one of my favorite anime of all time, Dragonball Z. Plus, it was sung by Hironobu Kageyama! I've liked his songs ever since I heard him sing _Choujin Sentai Jetman_'s opening and ending theme songs. Ah . . . good times. Good times.

As for Keigo's mutterings, I did a slight pairing implication between those two. Both perverts in their own way . . . though I wish Chizuru would go bi. Now _there's_ a reason for these two to become a pairing. But if they ever have a relationship, I'm pretty sure it'll be a rocky one . . . kinda like Ron and Hermione's infamous rows during the early books of the Harry Potter series. Full of arguments but full of love, I suppose. Another note: If some of you don't get the "wearing black" part, then picture this: A high school girl _in a skirt_ being given a German Suplex (Google it, if you're not a wrestling fan). I'm pretty sure that leaves nothing to the imagination, ei?


	8. The Lost Soul: PART 2

Date written: 21/05/09 – 05/06/09

Posted on FanFiction: 12/06/09

A/N: Apart from writing as a hobby (and hopefully a future job), I'm also an avid hardcore gamer. I got to re-play _GRID_ and completely lost track of time (I started around 7 PM, then when I was done the time was 2 AM; and that was only _one_ of those times). I also played _F.E.A.R. 2: Project Origin_ (Best damn horror game I've played since F.E.A.R. 1; if you like J-horror and psychological scares, this is the game for you) and _Tomb Raider: Underworld_ since Monday (May 18). And started replaying Guitar Hero 3 (on my PC . . . with a keyboard . . .) on Thursday. I have an addiction, and rehab is out of the question. I lost pretty much a lot of time and I apologize. I've now gotten back into the swing of things (more or less) and inputted a lot of thought in this chapter. I hope. Every time I think a line, I always think back to Alma and how she scared me and my friends shitless during the intro of FEAR 2.

And in 2,000 words away from finishing this chapter, I finally got my hands on a copy of Sims 3. The addiction is more powerful than my muse. It kept sending messages of "Writer's Block" and "Procrastination" until my hype of the game settled down into a controllable amount.

A few of the things I'd like to point out was the strangeness in this particular portion of the Bleach series. The anime did not mention anything about Kon being specialized with his legs (unlike the manga; I learned about this from there). And also, how did Ichigo learn that Kon kissed Tatsuki _and_ Orihime in the series? He wasn't present there when it was done, and I could understand if he thought Tatsuki was kissed since he may have overheard Tatsuki and Kon's little conversation before she continued throwing more of those chairs at him. And that put my muse into a pondering mood and I left it to her on what to do. Writing an embarrassed Ichigo was hard, but maybe worth it. Enjoy, everyone.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 8 ---**

**The Lost Soul**

**PART 2**

Ichigo did not like this day. Apart from the usual shinigami duties he would have to do anywhere and anytime (Once, he had to cut classes for this job; he'd been sent to the faculty office when he got back), he also needed to put up with a certain raven-haired girl's high demands in how he handles each new Hollow coming. He got the job done, didn't he, so why must she bitch about the proper procedures?

Ichigo would never really know because Rukia would either not answer or punch him and then not answer. He knew this because he had already asked her before.

But that wasn't really the reason why he deemed this day as one he loathed. The actual reason was because his freakin' body was stolen, and he could put all the blame on little old Rukia Kuchiki for it. He was mad, no doubt about that, and he was hoping that this day wouldn't get any worse.

A thought then occurred and he immediately tore down those hopes of his. That Mod Soul, as Rukia called that guy, was in _his_ body, so whatever things that Mod Soul will do, people will undoubtedly point at him. If by chance that the guy in his body would start kissing girls outside the school, they would label Ichigo as the pervert. And that didn't go well with his irritation and also his reputation.

He wondered if Rukia had enough of those memory modifiers to level the whole city.

"We lost him," Rukia announced as they entered the last spot they've seen the Mod Soul enter which was an abandoned warehouse.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Miss Marple," Ichigo growled. "Man, where the hell did he . . . I go?"

"That's an ironic fallacy. And who is this 'Miss Marple'?"

"This is not the time for your incomprehensible jokes. We gotta stop me, I mean him!"

"Though we do need to keep the pace and find the Mod Soul inhabiting your physical body, there is no need to be so snappy towards me." Rukia crossed her arms. "Why are you so agitated anyway?"

"Apart from the fact that my _body_ just got stolen," Ichigo said with sarcasm, "that freak also did something in the classroom that caused Tatsuki to throw tables and chairs at me, uh, _him_." This was getting confusing. "And trust me, it takes a lot for someone like Tatsuki to get really mad and start hauling school property without caring about the consequences."

"Tatsuki-chan _was_ very mad," Orihime said, standing next to Rukia.

"Yeah," Ichigo said. "And just thinking about what that creep did to Tatsuki—"

Ichigo stopped. He looked at Rukia, then turned his head a little to the right. Black robes. Orange hair. Gray eyes. Big brea—uh, ignore that last one. Reality hit him like a ton of bricks, and he immediately pointed an accusing finger at the newcomer.

"I—I—Inoue!" Ichigo exclaimed.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Miss Marple," Rukia said, a little smile tugging her lips as if she thought what Ichigo said earlier was one of the modern bits of sarcasm he would usually snap at the raven-haired girl. But saying that to him wasn't sarcasm but rather ignorant stupidity. Miss Marple was a fictional character who was an old maid as well as a detective. It fitted Rukia's image of being old (over a century old is most definitely considered _old_) and unmarried. Saying that line to him did not fit the proper point of sarcasm. But he was digressing from the main concern of the situation.

Ignoring his inner ramblings, he said to Orihime, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help," she replied.

"What did Rukia and I say about shinigami business?"

"This is different, Kurosaki-kun. I want to help you, can't you see that?"

He did see, and that worried him.

"I have control over myself this time," Orihime explained. "I can help. I really can."

Ichigo glanced at Rukia, asking nonverbally for some support, but said girl was thinking over something and completely missed his eyes turning her way. "Maybe you can," Rukia said to Orihime, her arms crossed and that trademark serious expression etched on her face.

Ichigo did not believe his ears. "Wha—?"

"What happened in the classroom, Inoue-san?" Rukia asked. Oh, so that's what she meant by help. Ichigo wouldn't admit it, but he was also curious about what happened inside that classroom and what the Mod Soul creep did to Tatsuki that got her in such a murderous mood.

Curiosity killed the cat, though.

"Eh? Uh, well . . . that is . . ." Orihime stammered between her words, blushing like a strawberry.

"What did he do?" Ichigo asked. He knew that the face he was showing was one of mortification. And he had a reason to. For Orihime to stutter and get all vague about the event inside Class 1-3 was no understatement. The blush was not lost to him, and if he could take a guess—a guess that was horrible and embarrassing to even think about—he would say that the Mod Soul must have ki—

"He k—kissed Tatsuki and m—me."

Ichigo shivered involuntarily. The bombshell within her simple, five-word sentence was enough to shut down most of his brain's functions, leaving behind the torturous echoes—_He kissed Tatsuki and me . . . kissed Tatsuki and me . . . Tatsuki and me . . . kissed Tatsuki and me . . . He kissed . . . me . . ._—for him to receive and contemplate with a temporarily nullified head. If he had felt mortified then, it would pale in comparison to what he was feeling now.

"So Ichigo kissed you and Tatsuki," Rukia said.

Another cold shiver slithered on his back while the blood flooded his cheeks. "Don't say that again! It's embarrassing."

"I don't really see the problem, Ichigo. A kiss is a kiss, after all. What is so wrong and embarrassing about that? From the books I've read to freshen up my modern Japanese, the characters in there were doing more vulgar things like—"

"Those are fiction books, dammit! And what the heck kind of books were you reading, anyway?!" Ichigo felt really embarrassed now. The thought of whatever books Rukia had read just made him more mortified than ever. He grabbed his head with both hands and roughly ruffled his hair in frustration. "Goddammit, the image I tried so hard to build up in school is now ruined."

"Image?" Orihime repeated.

"This guy . . . has an image?" Rukia asked, sounding bewildered.

He could ignore one voice of bewilderment, but two was already pushing it. So he said to the two girls, "Yes, an image. I was going for the cool guy who has no interest in forming romantic relationships—"

"So you're going for the hard-to-get guy," Rukia mused. Ichigo decided to ignore her, figuring she must've gotten that statement from her _obscene_ fiction books.

"—but now that image is ruined. Everyone will think I'm some . . . some . . . kissing maniac or . . . or a wild playboy." He thought of his dad and the things he had told Ichigo about his adventures during his teenage years. He had usually wondered what his mother saw in the guy. And Ichigo did _not_ want to be thought of like his dad. No way, Jose.

"I don't think of you as that, Kurosaki-kun." Orihime walked closer to him and took both of his hands off of his head. She held them gently like fragile glass. "I already knew that it wasn't you after you kissed my hand."

Ichigo sighed slowly in relief. At least it wasn't a full-on make out session. _That_ would surely agitate him and personally bring down the wrath of Hell towards that Mod Soul. It wasn't because Ichigo didn't want to kiss Orihime, but because he wanted to be the one doing the ki—wait . . . what?

He banished the thought immediately. Banished it to oblivion if he had to. But the contact between their hands, along with his earlier thoughts, was making him uncomfortable now. He just hoped he wasn't blushing. "Uh, Inoue . . ."

She looked at their joined hands, blushed again, and moved her hands away from his as if she had been burned. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, prodding her two forefingers together with her head looking down.

Wanting to change the subject, or rather away from their awkward parting, Ichigo said to Rukia, "You said that Gikongan in my body was a Mod Soul. What _are_ Mod Souls anyway?"

"Mod Souls are products created from the now defunct Project Spearhead," Rukia explained, catching Ichigo's and Orihime's attentions. "The scientists in the Research and Development Institute have upgraded the use of the Gikongan in a beneficial way for us shinigami." She took out her trademark sketchbook and some writing and coloring materials, and laid them all out on an old, dust-covered crate that was the height of a kitchen table. She drew while talking, and Ichigo suddenly had a sinking feeling. "To generalize the several phases for the project to come into fruition, it just basically means that the Mod Soul is specifically created to inhabit human corpses."

"C—corpses?" Orihime gasped.

"Correct. By ingesting a Mod Soul pill into an empty physical shell—in this case, a corpse—the soul inside the pill inhabits it. But that is not the important part." Rukia finished her drawing and presented it to them.

Ichigo was now looking at another childish doodle (He refuses to call them illustrations). The doodle was divided into quarters by a cross, occupying the rectangular sketchbook equally in their respective places like four smaller rectangles forming a bigger rectangle. The upper left section was the first Ichigo looked at. It had the picture of a bear with X's for eyes lying on the ground. Above the bear was another bear but it had the stereotypical ghost tail that signified it as a newly departed soul. There was a chain hanging from the second bear's chest, showing further proof to what he concluded.

"The Mod Soul uses corpses of people who have recently died," Rukia continued. "Long-dead vessels have been considered but denied. Decomposition damages the efficiency of the Mod Souls, so the people in Spearhead suggested using fresh corpses. Of course, finding and stealing them from morgues already caused a problem for the higher officials of Soul Society since they believe it might cause problems with the balance shinigami have sworn to uphold."

Rukia pointed to the next drawing, which was the one to the first's right. This doodle also had a bear on the left side lying on the ground. But the difference between this one and the one in the first doodle was the lack of a soul leaving from within it. Instead of a leaving soul, there was actually an entering soul. To the right of the bear was an arrow pointing further to the right, and just beside the arrowhead was another bear. This one looked alive and well, flexing its mountain-sized muscles with the words 'Mod Soul in new body' written under it in bold and underlined letterings.

Ichigo's right eye was twitching.

Rukia continued, "What a Mod Soul does which is different than any normal Gikongan is that it enhances a specific aspect of the empty vessel that is helpful in eradicating Hollows for us shinigami."

Rukia pointed to the next one (the one on the lower left). The doodle had a lot of bears—around a baker's dozen, perhaps—doing different things. One was wearing glasses and reading a Quantum Physics book (_How does Quantum Physic help in Hollow eradication, anyway?_ his thoughts mused) while another was lifting a barbell weighing a ton with only one hand. One other bear, Ichigo noticed, was wearing a chef's hat and cooking something flat and brown in a frying pan—it even has a mustache with spiral ends. What's _that_ going to do, poison the Hollows to death?

Ichigo was using all of his willpower and self-control to say nothing at all.

Rukia said, "It can be enhanced brain power, superhuman strength, super speed, a special talent that only one particular Mod Soul possesses, or even enhancing one specific human body part to the point of inhuman. And it seems the Mod Soul inside Ichigo's body is of the latter. It has enhanced leg strength." She pointed at a bear at the bottom of the third doodle. It had a spiral for legs as if it was running very fast in an old cartoonish way.

"I see, I see," Orihime uttered, nodding her head vigorously. "So we're dealing with a super-legged person."

"You catch on quick, Inoue-san."

The nasty comment was almost out of his mouth before he was able to hold down his tongue. One thought floated in his mind which gave his self-control a bigger push in keeping his sarcasm at bay. He thought he didn't want to diss Orihime just because she had better luck in understanding Rukia's childish doodles than he was. He couldn't care less about Rukia's drawings anyway, especially when they were drawn as if by a four-year-old even though the actual artist was already over a century old.

Rukia then pointed to the last drawing, which consisted of two bears and two bunnies. One bear and one bunny were wearing black clothing with stick swords (the bear had it strapped on its back, while the bunny had it strapped on her waist). Both of them, along with the other bunny, were surrounding the other bear, forming a triangle with the other bear as the center. The other bear had a sad face while the rest had happy faces.

Ichigo saw it, understood it (somehow), and now wanted to _really_ comment after Rukia fully explains this last doodle. But to preserve what was left of his sanity (and prevent a beating from Rukia, which might be worth it if he could release his cynical but currently tightlipped mouth), he tuned out her explanation, only catching tidbits about how Orihime, Rukia, and he would surround the Mod Soul; he could be the distraction, Orihime could pin down the target, and Rukia could execute the final blow of ejecting the pill from his body. There were more technical issues she had discussed about with Orihime, but he couldn't wait anymore. The longer they take their time not searching, the harder it will be for them to finally find his body. Plus, it was a good way to avoid uttering the many snide comments he had thought up.

"You two," he said as Rukia was talking about Orihime's chokehold. Rukia had an annoyed face for being interrupted but didn't voice it. To save time as well as his own ears from the argument he might eventually end up in with the raven-haired shinigami if he didn't pick the right words to say in this situation, he pointed towards the exit of the warehouse and said, "We'll plan along the way. Right now we have to start searching."

Both Orihime and Rukia nodded; the latter didn't look like she was about to argue, so he was relieved for now. But if Ichigo had the chance to say out loud what he thought at the time, it would be this:

"I _really_ hate this day."

* * *

"Oh how I _love_ this day!" the Mod Soul shouted as he took another leap into the air. That wasn't strange in itself except that his leaping height was ten times higher than the average jumper. He looked around him and, to his great amusement, saw people stopping midstride and gawking at him. Actually _gawking_ at how cool he was! His stunt was definite eye-catcher material. He should be on television for the whole world to see his superior coolness.

He leaped up again and landed onto metal railings on the rooftop of a low building. Losing his balance from the narrow footing, he swung his arms outward to regain his coordination. Then began leaping again. Today was surely a great day for him.

After being cooped inside a pill for who-knows-how-long, he was glad that he'd been given the chance to smell the air, feel the rushing wind in his face, the control of an actual _body_. Nothing would ever beat that last one! This was a very precious moment and he was planning on keeping this state of bliss for as long as he could. Though he knew that it was not all fun and games once those shinigami bastards found him in their search. He's only good with his legs, and he could beat a normal person without feeling threatened at all. But to confront a shinigami head-on was arrogant and suicidal. It was only pure luck that he had escaped their clutches—that human chick was good with her arms, and he was convinced now that those 'twins' of hers were natural. He loves it natural and XXL.

But still, he needed to be careful when putting attention to himself, especially in a busy area. That was why he was leaping around the residential area than downtown. The district was home to many people but not as much as the people right now in downtown. If there were a few things drilled into his mind back when he was still being created in Project Spearhead, one of them would have to be about human economics. Today was a school day; in other words, the regular 9-to-5 work day. Most of the Karakura-branch companies were built in downtown, according to the information he'd been given. So suffice to say, he tended to avoid that part of town until he was completely in the clear and out of those shinigami's radar. He needed to lay low . . . but what was the harm in having a bit of fun first?

He was closing in on an elementary school by the time he was done with his inner musing. Deciding that he should take a short break, he skipped over the railing and headed to a secluded area next to the school's quadrangle. Physical Education was in session and the rest of the quad was crowded with little kids in their PE uniforms. He really wished he was actually next to a _high school_ quadrangle while that subject was being taught. Teen girls in short bloomers were irresistible for him. And how their 'twins' jumping around in their playpen as the high school girls jog around the track were definite eye candy.

But as he landed on the storage building's roof, he realized that the place he chose wasn't void of kids at all. There were three of them, all boys, playing with what looked like those handheld devices that were in the _new_ in the Human World. The toys were called PSP from what he gathered by an ad in a billboard he passed. The kids were also wearing PE uniforms and it didn't take a genius to understand why these three kids were there.

"Skipping classes," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Damn!" one of the three kids—the one with the glasses—cursed.

"Haha. Lost again?" the kid with the shaved head questioned rhetorically. "Tough luck, Kenta."

"It's not me who lost, it's this damn character! He won't move the way I wanted him to move." Kenta looked livid. Definitely hot-headed, in the Mod Soul's opinion. "Why won't you follow my orders correctly, you crummy piece of garbage?!" Kenta yelled at his PSP.

"Yelling at it won't make it obedient," the third kid, one with slit-shaped eyes, commented, then went back to playing with his own PSP.

"Ah screw this! I'll just delete him."

The Mod Soul shivered when the kid said those words. Anger was rising. His fists slowly clenched; his teeth grinded.

"_**They're worthless now. Time for deletion."**_

"But you've already made it to level 10!" the bald kid announced. "You're going to start all over if you delete 'em."

"So what? I've done it before, so I can do it again. And besides, if this character won't listen to what I order him to do, then he's nothing more than worthless trash."

"Aren't you taking this a little too seriously?"

"Am not!" He shook his PSP a bit, making sure to swing it at each word he was about to say. "_I _created him, so it's up to _me_ if I want him gone!"

"_**You don't like our decision, you say? Then tell it to someone who actually cares. **_**We**_** created you, so it's up to **_**us**_** if we want you terminated."**_

The Mod Soul's fists were shaking. A low growl exited his feral look, like a dog warning a trespasser that it was crossing its territory.

"So say goodbye, Useless." Kenta sneered at the PSP screen. "It's been _nice_ knowing ya." He pressed a few buttons and then looked smug.

"You actually deleted him," the slit-eye kid muttered in disbelief, but the Mod Soul heard it.

"It only took me four days to get to level 10," Kenta said in a dismissive tone, already beginning to forget about the now deleted character in his video game. "They're replaceable, after all. If you're not happy with one character, you can always delete it and make a new and better one. That's the best way for—"

The Mod Soul landed four feet away from the three kids. They all looked surprised by his entrance, but he didn't care about that. He was angry. _Enraged_. All because of this . . . this human _kid_ talking about replaceable characters.

A creator has the right to destroy its own creation?

He didn't like that. He didn't like that _one bit_. And he was sure to drill this into Kenta's head even if it means hurting him in the process.

The kids were slowly backing away from him as they saw the rage masking the expression on his face. He approached them as he growled.

* * *

The trio searched the city for around fifty minutes until they made their way to the local park. They were all panting and sweating after their nonstop search. Rukia and Ichigo were dealing better with the exertion than Orihime was. Though she did have some martial arts training, it was mostly work on her upper body rather than her lower. And her stamina wasn't always that great. Her feet were sore; they felt like lead every time she lifted one off the ground. But the pain was only a null ache compared to how difficult it was for her to breathe. It was if her lungs were rejecting the air she tried to inhale and sending it out through forced coughs and long exhalations until the twin organs will look nothing more than two prunes. She tried breathing through her mouth but it only helped a little.

When Rukia announced that they should take a slight breather before continuing, Orihime quickly obliged to her suggestion and unceremoniously slumped over to the edge of the fountain located at the center of the park. She took in deep breaths while looking straight up. Tatsuki told her that it was bad to lower her head while her body cooled down from a hasty exertion. She vaguely wondered if that rule applied to soul's as well.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ichigo and Rukia talking animatedly in their usual arguments and jabs. Orihime couldn't really understand what exactly they were saying since she was too busy with her short-of-breath state, so she instead listened to the sporadic flow of her breathing until it slowed down into a more rhythmical pace. They didn't look the least bit fatigued. Winded, maybe, but not fatigued. She saw Ichigo shoot occasional glances at her direction as he continued his conversation with Rukia.

Orihime wanted to ask about that, but her throat felt dry. And it was not just because of exhaustion—even as a soul, she could feel sweat coursing down from between her shoulder blades to her midback. Why was she hesitating? She only needed to inquire about Ichigo's less-than-subtle glances, after all. But maybe she already knew the answer to that question before she even thought of asking him.

_He's keeping his guard on me_, she thought grimly. Ichigo was wary of her. It was that simple. As long as he thought Orihime was a threat to them with that unknown alter-ego of hers, he would still keep an eye on her. It hurt to be closely guarded as if she was a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up at a moment's notice. She was positive she had full control over her soul that there shouldn't _be_ any walls crossing between them. Orihime was already excluded from shinigami duties by Rukia and Ichigo because of unknown consequences if she stayed in her shinigami form for too long. Now she was being excluded from getting any closer to Ichigo while they were doing this job. Both of them weren't even letting her join in on the conversation they were having.

_I'm the third wheel. They act like I don't exist to help at all._

Orihime fought back the tears. She couldn't cry. She _mustn't_ cry. It was a symbol of weakness and concession. She had been through this before, and she had been able to keep a straight face on until she had returned to the safety of the four walls in her home and had cried everything out. She never showed that side of her except when she was alone. She never bottled her emotions up and stowed them away in a corner. She would always let them out, but only when she was alone. When Sora had been alive, it had been always in his arms that she'd cry out her troubles, and he'd listen without saying a word until she had finished releasing it all. But now she had to stop the tears. It was not the time to submerge herself into depression. Not when Rukia and Ichigo were there.

She sniffed lightly and inaudibly. Her left hand rose to the apex of her left eye and wiped the lone tear that hadn't fallen. Looking back at her two companions, Orihime tried her best to halt the progress of her emotions in overtaking her calm. But they were slowly building, and soon it would overflow the dam she had set up. She needed to reinforce it.

"Are you okay, Inoue?" Ichigo asked, interrupting her from reinforcing that imaginary dam in her heart. She saw wariness in his posture, as if expecting her to jump off from the fountain, draw out her sword, and start attacking them.

Orihime felt the urge to do _just that_—_**Come on, princess! You know you want to**_—but for only a moment before squashing it mercilessly and banish it away from anywhere near the forefront of her mind. Guilt came to her from even _thinking_ that horrible thought.

From the outside, she nodded at Ichigo and said, "I'm fine."

Ichigo stared at her.

"A little tired, but fine. Really."

Ichigo closed his eyes and turned away. He looked disappointed.

Orihime caught that look and suddenly realized that he might've seen right through her lie. But why did he look disappointed? Wasn't he the one shutting her out, keeping his guard on her? What did Ichigo really want from her?

Beeping sounded off from Rukia's pocket, where she dug out her cell phone and opened it. Her look resembled mild irritation and she swore under her breath, but it was still loud enough for both Orihime and Ichigo to hear. "We've got orders," Rukia said.

"Now?" Ichigo asked, looking as irritated as Rukia, who nodded at his inquiry. "Damn! Of all the times for a Hollow . . ." He trailed off, looked at the fountain, and heaved a heavy sigh. He turned back at Rukia with a deeper scowl. "Where?"

"It's close," Rukia answered, consulting the map on her cell phone. "100 jou south from here."

"100 what?"

"100 jou is equivalent to over 300 yards," Orihime explained. "It's the old Japanese measurement system."

"You're one freakin' old hag, you know that?" Ichigo said to Rukia, who bashed him in the head because of that remark.

"Let's just go," Rukia replied and ran towards south. Orihime and Ichigo soon followed after her.

* * *

The Mod Soul approached the three kids but only one of them was in his long Hate List. His target was shaking severely that his glasses were stumbling down the bridge of his nose.

"So you think that you can get away from terminating what you created, huh?" he said with bursting vehemence.

Kenta whimpered.

"Here's a lesson in life I've recently picked up on," he continued. "Men create monsters. And it's in the monster's nature . . . to _kill_ the men who created him."

The kids looked like they didn't understand where he was going with the conversation, but he chose to ignore it. They wouldn't understand anyway no matter how hard he'd try to make them. What he should focus on was the _lesson_. Yes, the _lesson_.

"Now," he lifted his right foot, "who wants to play soccer, three-on-one?"

The kids took two steps back from him, whimpering louder. They didn't even dare to answer him.

"All right, let's make it two-on-one." He glared directly at Kenta while smiling sadistically. "One of you gets to be the ball we'll kick around the field."

He lifted his right foot higher than his head and then pushed it down like the falling blade of a guillotine, straight towards Kenta's face. He braced his foot for the impact, while debating whether he should lessen his blow more so as to be double sure he wouldn't crack the kid's skull open. Too late, though. He felt the impact as dust clouds formed around Kenta.

Crap, he applied too much.

He was about to lift his foot hastily back up when he felt two hands grab his ankle and shin. The dust clouds dispersed, and the Mod Soul instantly saw black and orange in his field of vision.

"I was expecting a Hollow," he heard a very familiar voice drawl out in the disappearing dust clouds, "but finding you about to hurt three kids must be God's ironic humor. Tell me, aren't Mod Souls protectors of humans? Have you gone so low that you've greeted Satan with a friendly wave?"

The dust clouds were gone. Standing confidently with his right leg being grasped firmly over the guy's shoulder with his two hands was Ichigo Kurosaki. And he was smiling. It wasn't happy or feral or crazy. Ichigo was smiling _angrily_ at him. And not for the first time did the Mod Soul feel the dread build up inside his (Ichigo's body's) gut.

"Tell you what," Ichigo continued, "how about I let you meet him again. _IN HELL_!"

* * *

Ichigo looked absolutely pissed. And Orihime was seeing that look for the first time. It was a little shocking to see but not unexpected. The three of them had arrived at the elementary school because Rukia's radar had pinpointed this location where the Hollow will appear. But before Orihime and Ichigo could prepare themselves, the radar lost track of the Hollow. Rukia had then explained to Orihime that it must be a false alarm. She had said Hollows tend to go halfway through the gateway before returning to the Hollow World. But in exchange for the false alarm, the three of them had been gifted with a bit of luck. Orihime had sniffed the air and caught the scent of Ichigo's body around the back of the school's PE equipment storehouse. Rukia and Ichigo gave her the same strange look she had also seen in Tatsuki's face when Orihime told her she could find Ichigo by scent like a bloodhound. Nevertheless, they had followed her and, sure enough, had found whom they were looking for.

Ichigo had already sprung into action before either of the girls could prepare themselves for the plan Rukia had thought up.

"Ichigo!" Rukia exclaimed, raising her right arm to grab him but was too late. "That idiot," she added in a whisper.

"Kuchiki-san, should we stick to the plan?"

Rukia nodded. "Ichigo's doing his part of the plan, albeit unknowingly." She rolled her eyes and pulled out her Skull glove from her blazer's right pocket. "Inoue-san, get into position."

"Roger."

Orihime ran towards the Mod Soul's blind spot, while Ichigo tried to keep hold of his physical body's foot as he talked to him. And Orihime was starting to dislike the smile he was using. Before helping him, she looked around and saw the three kids already running away from the place, shouting out "Sensei! Sensei!" in a loud, uncoordinated frenzy.

Breathing deeply, in and then out, she charged towards the Mod Soul just when he pushed Ichigo away by kicking him in the gut with his left foot. This was her chance; his hands were extended to each side, giving her a wide area for a Nelson hold. She learned this move from Tatsuki as well, even though it was another one of the wrestling submission holds she added to Orihime's martial arts training. Orihime steeled her nerves—making sure she's mentally prepared for another touchy-feely remark (and attempt, don't forget that) from the Mod Soul—and pushed her arms under his. She then raised her forearms towards the Mod Soul's shoulders, and finalized it with intertwining her hands above the Mod Soul's nape.

"What the—" the Mod Soul said in surprise before he clenched his fists and began to wrestle his way out of her hold.

"Kuchiki-san, now!" Orihime exclaimed, locking the hold for all her worth, trying desperately not to let the Mod Soul have a chance of escaping her clutches again. Rukia was closing in. Orihime just needed to keep this hold for another three seconds before it can be all over.

She expected the Mod Soul to look directly at Rukia, but instead he stopped his squirming and looked left. The oddity was not lost to her and she wondered he was thinking while she kept her hold strong. Rukia was very close, her hand extended, more than ready to slam onto the side of the Mod Soul's head. It was—

BEEP! BEEP!

The noise originated from Rukia's pocket. And Orihime was very familiar with that ring tone.

A deafening roar came from her left and when she turned her head that way—and unconsciously losing grip on the hold—she saw a large Hollow entering the quadrangle from a black, distorted passageway. The wind followed the sound of the Hollow's hoarse roar and some of her bangs danced and tangled themselves into her vision. She shook her head to get them off her face but the sweat that accumulated from their hour-long search in the city acted as an adhesive foundation for the strands to cling on. And without warning, she felt her captive moving while she had been distracted.

The Mod Soul had jumped. It was not a straight jump but one that resembled a backflip. He took off from the ground, and while her arms were still placed on his underarms and her hands on his nape, Orihime had to arch her back Matrix-style as her captive shifted positions that he was now on top of her. The momentum wasn't yet lost and he was still halfway from completing his evasive maneuver. And if Orihime didn't let go now, she might inevitably lose grip of her captive and crash onto the ground, spine- and headfirst. A painful fall.

But the Mod Soul didn't give her time to think within that brief fraction of a second as he wiggled his arms around until her hands detached from each other and the rest of her arms disentangled themselves from his body.

In the distance, as Orihime looked on at the upside-down view of the Mod Soul in Ichigo's body, another mighty roar shot through the quad, beating the yelp she made once her body greeted the dirt. She unconsciously closed her eyes as the pain rocked through her back with unmerciful fury, and opened them again to see that the Mod Soul was no longer in her view. She looked towards the roar and found him running towards the Hollow. He kicked the Hollow while its attention was on Ichigo and Rukia, and sent it off far.

Orihime rose from her position, not even bothering to dust away the dirt that stuck to her black robes and sweaty skin. The Hollow that showed up today was like a caterpillar, only it floated around the rooftop of the main elementary school building.

"Hey! Get back here!" Ichigo yelled at the retreating Mod Soul. Orihime's first thought was to go after him, but that was before she saw him running _towards_ the school building and _towards_ the Hollow.

"What is he _doing_?" Rukia asked. Her cell phone was held in her right hand, closed and off.

Ichigo didn't answer her. He just grunted and sprinted after the thief that stole his body. Following close behind him was Rukia and then Orihime. She was slightly fatigued but the extra effort from the earlier hold released some adrenaline into her system, and she was hoping to make the most of this temporary boost until the Hollow and Mod Soul situation was dealt with properly. She jumped along with Ichigo from the side of the school building to quickly get access at the roof. Rukia was stuck with taking the stairs due to her still unpowered state.

A long tentacle-shaped shadow divided the rooftop as the Hollow crossed above it. After successfully climbing to the roof, Orihime saw the Hollow's silhouette as it eclipsed the sun. The Mod Soul was nearby, jumping up, wanting to damage the Hollow further.

The Mod Soul kicked the Hollow's underbelly, clearly making it mad. But he hadn't anticipated how he would land after delivering that blow, so the Hollow used that indecision by swatting its tail right at him. He quickly saw it coming and swerved his body to dodge it. Dodging the tail was one thing, avoiding the long spikes protruding from that tail was another thing entirely. He was out of luck, then, and Ichigo's physical body was now sporting a pretty savage wound on his left shoulder, all while falling down at over three stories onto the roof.

But surprisingly he landed like a cat, minimizing the force of gravity as his legs absorbed most of the fall's impact. The Hollow didn't hesitate even for a second as it shortened the distance between it and its prey. The Mod Soul was left unguarded while Orihime just stood there, staring at the battle. The Mod Soul reacted too late when the Hollow got too close and would've had even more wounds to count into the list if not for the real Ichigo intercepting the attack in time.

Ichigo swiftly blocked the caterpillar Hollow's second tail attack with his sword, pushed it away, and finished it with a slash, gashing the tip of the Hollow's tail.

The Hollow retreated.

* * *

Ichigo breathed out deeply and with a well-trained flick of his sword, he performed chiburi (_**lit.**_ "Blood flick") to remove the blood staining his blade.

"You," the body stealer said to him. "You saved me? But why?"

_Is he for real?_ Ichigo thought. Without waiting for the guy to stop looking incredulously at him, Ichigo holstered his sword, grabbed his physical body by the collar, and said right to his face, "Like hell I was saving _you_, thief." He looked at the wound on his body's shoulder. "Damn, now look at what you did to my body! If I have left you alone with it, it will look so torn up that not even my own family would recognize me."

"Then why don't you _do your job_ than just stand around like a clueless idiot?!"

"I _am_ doing my job, bastard."

"Oh, then I guess I _didn't_ have to intervene when you apparently had the whole Hollow situation under control." Sarcasm was all over that sentence.

Ichigo tightened the grip and pulled his face closer to his. "You tryin' to make me angry?"

"You aren't yet? With that face, I thought the Incredible Hulk was your role model."

That ticked him off. He pulled his free arm back and was more than happy to start punching the guy without remorse. His fist was inches away from hitting the cheek before he realized he was going to punch his own body. And that ticked him off even further. To see this guy taunting him—and his trademark scowl—but couldn't make a counter with blows due to the circumstances left him with a grudging feeling. Once he got his body back, he would remember to even this little score . . .

Ichigo heard the growls of the Hollow attacking them once more. But before it could come close, Orihime appeared right in front of him, slowly unsheathing her sword from its scabbard. Again he was mesmerized at how the light would blind him for a second as the blade exited the shadows of the scabbard. Ichigo thought it must've been reflection from the sun that blinded him until he realized that the sun was currently hovering over a cloud, basically hiding it from plain view.

Orihime's sword was as long as he first saw it. Even though the blade had been sheathed inside a two-foot long scabbard, the actual length was doubled. It explained why the hilt had the length of a twelve-inch ruler. And she was grasping that same hilt with both hands in a kendo position.

_What is she doing?!_ Ichigo thought worriedly. He involuntarily moved his right hand towards his sheathed sword and looked ready to attack.

"Let me handle this," Orihime said to him without looking. With that small but sharp command, he motioned his hand back down without a second thought . . . or even _conscious_ thought. It was as if he had been temporarily mind controlled to follow her direct order.

And when Ichigo realized this, Orihime already charged for a frontal assault.

"Inoue!"

He saw her move away from an incoming tail strike and use her long blade as a guard when one of the tail's spikes got close enough to injure her. Reeling herself back, Orihime took a proper swing at the fleeing tail and managed to aggravate the wound he made on the Hollow earlier, further deepening the cut. It was executed in such precision and instinct that Ichigo was left stunned and wondering whether that person was still the same old Orihime with the gentle gray eyes.

The Hollow screamed from the wound in its wound. "Damn you, bitch!" it cried. It attacked her with its head this time, opening its mouth to reveal two sets of giant white teeth.

Orihime didn't quiver nor stepped back. She positioned her sword in that same kendo stance and locked gazes with the Hollow. Her eyes were narrowed with a fighting will Ichigo had never seen before. The Hollow was planning on attacking again, Ichigo could tell by the way it stood in one place and not hovering around like it was doing before. The Hollow was completely in a battle phase, observing the opponent before it made its move. If he were the Hollow, he would most likely examine the length of her sword first and what move he'd do to get in close before his enemy could even react by swinging her blade at him.

But Orihime actually did the unthinkable: She sheathed her sword back into its sheath and then assumed a strange position. Now Ichigo had been in more than a few battles, but there was one thing he would never do and that was to _never_ sheathe his sword while in the middle of a fight. Just the mere thought of doing it could be considered suicidal. But it was due to Orihime's stance that he didn't react to help her.

"Hey, Ichigo," the Mod Soul called, "hurry and help her. I think she's gone crazy."

"Shut up," he replied, not making eye contact with the guy. His vision was sorely on Orihime's back. He somehow understood by that stance alone that Orihime was planning something, and she needed to do this alone.

"Hypocrite."

"If you don't want me to destroy you after I get my body back you _will_ shut up now or else I'll make you and _then_ destroy you." And Ichigo meant every word of it. But he didn't hear a reply from the guy because the Hollow already made its next move on Orihime. It was going for a full-on assault.

Ichigo blinked.

And missed the whole thing.

The Hollow's mask had already been sliced in half and the body falling, slowly disintegrating into nothing. When he looked over at Orihime, he saw her around ten feet forward from where he last saw her standing and motioning her right arm for the chiburi before sheathing her sword back into the scabbard.

He couldn't believe it. Orihime defeated the Hollow in under a second?

The shock was like a paralyzing drug to Ichigo, if not because his legs felt like jelly and refused to move from the floor but because he didn't even consider chasing the Mod Soul when he abruptly ran passed Orihime and towards the edge of the roof. The guy was already halfway there when Ichigo finally got his legs back into working order (with slight aftereffects of unbalance) and ran after him.

The Hollow was purified and breaking down into spirit particles, but the Mod Soul still kicked its abdomen before it completely disappeared. He was about to fall down, but Ichigo grabbed hold of his ankle just in the nick of time. The Mod Soul sighed in relief; Ichigo was beyond pissed.

"First fighting a Hollow and getting my body cut, and now kicking a dead foe!" Ichigo yelled. "If I hadn't caught you, you would've turned my body into a freakin' pancake. Just what the hell were you thinking?!"

The Mod Soul merely looked at him strangely before pointing at the empty quadrangle. Wait . . . it wasn't empty at all. There were four people down there, just beside the school building whose roof Ichigo was on. The kids looked like they were telling their teacher that they had been attacked by the Mod Soul. And apparently, by the looks on all three of them, the teacher didn't believe them.

"You . . . saved them?" Ichigo pulled him back onto the roof. "But why? I thought you were going to kill them?"

"I don't kill people," the Mod Soul said. He sat down against the railing, head low.

"Not the way I saw it with those kids earlier."

"I was angry at them, and I intended my kick to be a simple human-strength kick. That kid kept talking about things he had no right or proof to speak openly about."

"And that is?"

The Mod Soul looked at him in the eye. "A creator has the right to kill its creations."

Ichigo stared; he could see that the guy was unnerved by his face which was currently a mask of indifference.

The Mod Soul looked away. "I've been created to help Soul Society. And I've been ordered for termination soon after. In other words, the same day that I was created was the same day my creators planned to destroy me."

"What? That's absurd."

"No, it's true, Ichigo." Behind Ichigo stood Rukia and Orihime. By the seriousness of the speaker, Ichigo had no doubt that it was Rukia in her usual 'shinigami business' persona. Her normal persona, actually.

"What do you mean?" Ichigo questioned. "Did Soul Society really do this?"

"Project Spearhead was a failure. It was inevitable for every trace of research in the development of Mod Souls to be terminated. All Mod Soul pills, experimental and complete, have been scrapped. All except one, I suppose."

"So you're saying that Soul Society created Mod Souls for their convenience," Ichigo tried very hard to keep a leveled-voice as his emotions were flaring in frustration over the revelations today, "and destroyed Mod Souls for their convenience?"

Rukia nodded. "That sums it up, yes."

"But why?" Orihime asked. "What they did was just wrong."

"It doesn't matter if Soul Society was wrong or not. Remember that Soul Society is doing everything in its power to help your kind from the Hollow threat, even _if_ Soul Society had its shortcomings and mistakes in the past."

"And what's done is now done. It is all in the past."

The new voice coming from the left surprised Ichigo. He looked that way, and found his body lying on the floor and staring at the sky with glazed brown eyes. There was the sound of TAP! TAP! TAP! on the floor, like a bouncing marble. The Mod Soul pill was on that floor and out of his body.

"I guess we came too late for the fun," the stranger in the striped hat said as he picked up the fallen pill. He looked like he was some hobo—a _clean_ hobo—with a cane and wearing old-fashioned sandals. Behind him were three people: A tall, Jamaican-looking dude with glasses and cornrow hair; a boy with dark red hair and holding an exaggeratedly thick bat or frying pan; and a little girl with a coffin-sized object wrapped in white bandages to her right. The sandal-and-hat guy tossed the pill in the air, like flipping a coin, as he spoke to him. "Ichigo Kurosaki, huh? I've heard so much about you."

"Who are you?"

"Oh! Why I am just an honest merchant who—"

"Happened to be stealing back items I purchased from his store," Rukia interrupted, grabbing the pill while the sandal-and-hat guy was talking to him. "Does that seem honest to you?"

"I guess I'll just let you refund your purchase if that's what it takes."

"No." Rukia shook her head to emphasize that. "I'm happy with my purchase."

The sandal-and-hat guy adjusted his green- and white-striped hat, shrouding his eyes. "If _they_ were to find out, all of us will go in hiding."

"Understood."

"Well, since the situation is now normal, my group and I must take our leave. Oh! And don't worry about the chaos Mr. Modified Soul has caused. We will take care of that."

"That's pretty generous of you, Urahara," Rukia commented with a raised brow.

"Call it our insurance policy for selling badly made goods to our frequent customers." Before all four of them made their exit, the sandal-and-hat guy walked towards him. The guy gave him a once-over before continuing on with the rest of his lackeys.

It wasn't until he said "Orihime, I presume," that he turned back at the guy with a scowl. Something about the way he said that sentence didn't feel right at all, like how a tourist would say 'Wow!' after seeing some famous landmark or attraction.

"Y—yes," Orihime stammered out her answer.

"That was an impressive form of swordplay." The guy had a bit of a faraway look in the span of two seconds before his eyes widened. Then his gaze on Orihime intensified as if he was assessing her for physical deformities. Ichigo saw him look directly into Orihime's eyes and heard him intake a half-pint of air. He could think of only one thing that can cause that kind of reaction, but he saw nothing brown in Orihime's eyes when he turned to look at them. They were still gray and gentle, though maybe a little unnerved by the attention of a stranger.

The sandal-and-hat guy then smiled, chuckled, and shook his head all at the same time. "Mystery solved, I guess," he said, although it sounded like he was talking to himself and did not mean to say that out loud.

"Hey," Ichigo called.

The sandal-and-hat guy looked his way and replied with an almost disinterested voice, "Hm?"

"I'll ask again. Who are you?"

The guy tilted his hat and answered, "Kisuke Urahara. And it's a pleasure to leave you."

"A pleasure to lea—what?"

All four of them were gone, like bad-ass, disappearing ninjas.

"Weird guy," he commented, vouching an agreement from Rukia. "You know him?"

"He was the one who sold me the Gikongan pack," Rukia answered. She handed him the pill. "What are we going to do with this guy now?"

"Don't worry. I have plans to do to him."

Rukia slowly backed away from him when he started smirking.

* * *

Orihime entered the nurse's office and found her body under a blanket at the bed nearest to the entrance.

When the strange hat-man had disappeared with his group, she, Ichigo, and Rukia had headed back to Karakura High. The chaos, by then, had already been erased from the minds of everyone in the classroom. All the tables and chairs had been rearranged but the broken window was still unfixed. Thankfully, the students remembered it as some punk throwing a rock which shattered the glass. Orihime hadn't seen Tatsuki or her physical body in the classroom, so she assumed that they had taken her body to the nurse's office with Tatsuki close behind.

Orihime was a little glad that Tatsuki wouldn't remember any of this happened. It was a secret she intended to keep her out of lest her life would be in danger again just like that life-changing night. Orihime didn't want to see Tatsuki get involved in this, more so because she doesn't have any spiritual powers like Ichigo and her. Tatsuki might have attained a level of spiritual sensitivity that she can now sense and see ghosts, but that didn't mean she could fend off against Hollows twice the size of professional basketball players. Few might call her a hypocrite, citing that she was doing exactly what Ichigo was doing with her which she didn't like. But there was a difference between her and Tatsuki now.

Tatsuki had always been her protector for the past five years. Orihime felt it was time to be _her_ protector now, even if Tatsuki wouldn't know about it.

Orihime wasted no time in merging her soul back into the empty vessel of a body. Her lungs craved for air like ravenous animals, and she let them take their well-needed fill. When she got most of her bodily functions 'back to life,' so to speak, she finally realized that she wasn't alone in the room.

While Orihime had been busy with recombining her soul to her body, she didn't notice Tatsuki walking away from her hiding place behind the curtains of the next bed and then stood beside her.

Orihime was ready to greet her like normal. She would have to act like she hadn't a clue why she was here. In other words, play dumb. "Ah, Tatsuki-chan, what happened? Why am I in the nurse's office?"

"Your body collapsed after Kuchiki slammed her hand at you." She then crossed her arms. "Imagine my surprise not one but two Orihimes falling to the ground, but only one standing back up."

"Two? Heh?" Did that mean Tatsuki—

"You said you'll explain when you get back. So now you're back. Start explaining."

Yep, she remembered.

And Orihime can't fully lie to Tatsuki no matter how hard she tries. The girl would always find out. The only exception to that rule was hiding her inner turmoil; Orihime seemed to have a talent in hiding that part of herself from everyone including Tatsuki. The lie concerning the Kendo lessons was just a fluke, nothing more. Orihime had had the confidence and the determination to learn Kendo, without the penetrating gaze or the make-one-little-mistake-and-Tatsuki's-trust-of-you-will-be-damaged situation hanging around. The pressure, now, was far more than what she could take, and trying to conjure a lie on the fly was like trying to solve the cube root of twenty-two without a calculator.

"Orihime, you okay?"

She could only nod dumbly. But her mind was racing to catch up to the revelation that the memory-modifier didn't work on her best friend, the one person she didn't want to know about her newfound powers and the new world she had discovered along the way. And it looked like Tatsuki wouldn't be leaving this discussion for later until getting some proper answers.

Orihime dreaded the first words to come out of her mouth. But she then realized that once she started with her bizarre tale, it got easier as she continued.

Tatsuki listened attentively. And Orihime was grateful she was silent until she finished. But most of what she wanted to say was filled with hesitation but the words were already leaving her lips before her mind or heart could even think of making second thoughts about telling it. The truth would hurt, but Orihime found the truth to be a form of release from all the pent-up emotions she held inside. For almost two weeks. For almost two weeks it had been like this. And Tatsuki only listened without saying a word.

Maybe an hour had passed when she was done telling her story. But all she had been waiting for was Tatsuki's reaction. The silence was deafening even though her voice was there to keep sound afloat in the empty room. In a moment of wonder, she wanted to ask Tatsuki where the nurse was, but she decided to save that for later, thinking it irrelevant. Tatsuki didn't say a word during the whole story. And that did not really give you a clear picture over what they're feeling, apart from disbelief, shock, or even . . . rejection.

"And," Orihime said, a faint crack in her voice, "that's all of it. What do you think of it, Tatsuki-chan?"

She now waited for Tatsuki's reply.


	9. Six One Six

Date written: 06/06/09 – 12/06/09

Posted on FanFiction: 16/06/09

A/N: I'm now back in University and a few years closer into getting a Bachelor's degree. My updates will be less frequent but I'm not stepping out of the game yet. I've been planning this story from beginning to end in such detail that I wouldn't _want_ to abandon it with a snap of my finger. But there is always a possibility, though. Anyway, this is more or less a filler chapter (or a prologue) before we start off in the Grand Fisher sub-arc.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 9 ---**

**Six-One-Six**

Orihime waited in anticipation and fear as her story over the past two weeks was now revealed to her best friend, Tatsuki Arisawa. Throughout her telling, Tatsuki was silent. Orihime couldn't be sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she had faith that Tatsuki wouldn't think anything less of her.

"Woah."

Like the midnight chiming of a clock tower, that one word surprised Orihime that she redirected her gaze from her fondling hands to the small lopsided smile adorning the girl standing beside her. Her eyes held both pride and understanding. And Tatsuki didn't even realize how much the truth of her feelings got Orihime's heart so much at ease.

"I guess you've been through more than just a simple roller coaster ride during those two weeks, huh?"

Orihime chuckled. Last year, she and Tatsuki with her family had visited an amusement park to celebrate their graduation from middle school. It had been Orihime's first time riding a big roller coaster and she had felt too nauseous to continue onto other rides until her stomach untied the knots left behind. Tatsuki had remarked that her face looked very gloomy during the ten minutes she had been barfing out her lunch.

"But still," Tatsuki continued, "if I hadn't known you as a person that can't lie to save her butt, then I wouldn't have believed you."

"It's hard to believe, huh," Orihime said as a statement. "But this is top secret and no other living human must know about it."

"Even if I _did_ tell someone, I don't think they'll have an open mind to what I'd say. Probably throw me into the loony bin before I could utter another sentence. And even though I find it very hard to believe, I found some proof to back your story up."

"Proof?"

"You said it all happened when I visited your apartment, right? The same day that, supposedly, a sumo wrestler crashed the wall of your home on the _second_ floor?"

"I was as surprised as you that the memory they replaced with was so—"

"Exaggerated and unbelievable?"

"Cool and imaginative."

"Right," she drawled, while rolling her eyes. "To tell you the truth, there were actually two sets of memories that I can recall during that night, but I discarded one of them as probably a dream. Now, I think I may have discarded the wrong one."

"What did you remember exactly?"

"Well, pain on my shoulder mostly. The ache I had in the morning wasn't much of a hint; I thought I slept in an awkward position during the night, which might have caused it. I also remember what looked like the back of Kuchiki-san and you lying on the floor. That's pretty much the gist of it."

"I see."

"But to me, that's more than enough proof that the story you just told me really happened. That, and the fact that I can't think of an actual reason for a sumo wrestler to blast a wall on the second floor of a stranger's apartment without being subjected to my fists and be arrested by the police."

Orihime smiled. "Thank you, Tatsuki-chan."

"I should be the one thanking you, Orihime. I know that if it weren't for you, I would've died that night." Tatsuki held out a hand. "We've been here for quite a while. Skipping classes usually isn't our thing, but I'm sure the teacher wouldn't mind our informal early dismissal."

"But I'm fine, really. We should just head back to class."

"After what I heard you do today? Pfft, as if. We both know you're tired as hell, so no need to push yourself, all right? Going too far will do you more harm than good."

"I guess."

"Come on. Let's get your bag, and I'll escort you home."

Orihime slid out of the bed, slipped while putting on her indoor school shoes standing up, and crashed herself onto Tatsuki's torso. Tatsuki had a good look of Orihime's eyes, leaving Orihime to wonder if her irises turned color again since she was staring intently at them.

"Guess you're more tired out than I thought," Tatsuki said. "I think it's better you rest here, instead."

"I just tripped, that's all."

"Your skin is a little pale. I can even see the dark circles under your eyes. That's a sure sign of fatigue, so I think you should rest here until the end of class."

"But it's only an hour before the end of school," Orihime whined. "I don't want to miss out on English class."

"No means no," Tatsuki said that as a final warning. It was either Orihime complied or she would force her to rest. Either way, Orihime knew it was for her own good . . . but what about English class? Looking at Tatsuki's scolding look, like how a child would look at their parents when they were staying up way passed their bedtime, she reluctantly lied back down on the bed. "Good girl."

"Will you be going back to class?"

Tatsuki shook her head. "No, I'll be staying here, watching over you. And before you say anything, I'm doing this to be sure you're all right. Besides, you'll need me to wake you up when it's time to leave."

Orihime wanted to reply but found no words to say. Her head rested neatly on the fluffy pillow; she was comfortable and at peace for the time being. And it wasn't long before sleep was edging through her consciousness. This time, she let it take over, trusting Tatsuki to watch over her for at least an hour until she recuperate a bit of her energy.

Her dreams were filled with darkness, ambiguity, and the silhouette of a woman with dangerous-looking, chocolate brown eyes.

* * *

Ichigo walked home right after school ended. Rukia followed him closely but he didn't care much about that. In his pocket was the pill of the Mod Soul he was planning on using as a stress-reliever. Now Ichigo was not the kind of guy who would build up stress in just a few hours, but the battles he faced and all the trouble and embarrassment caused by one measly artificially-created soul encased inside a candy-looking pill was putting his stress meter to the limit. The pain on his shoulder was still a nuisance; another thing to add into his 'Beat up Mod Soul' list. The problem, however, was how exactly could he exact his revenge on a pill?

So, without really thinking, he had tried to search for something for the Mod Soul to occupy other than the Soul Candy. But when he had reached the gates of the school, he realized he didn't know where he could find an empty body for the Mod Soul to use. He tried asking Rukia but all she said that he needed to find a corpse for what he was trying to do.

That was close to impossible. Ichigo thought about doing a stakeout on the public roads and wait for a stray cat to get run over. He would then use the dead carcass for the Mod Soul. Rukia only said a corpse; she didn't say that it would have to be a _human_ corpse. But he didn't have the time or the patience to sit around all day just to wait for some careless driver to make some roadkill for him. So the stakeout idea was a bust.

So when he and Rukia were passing by the Mashiba district by the place where a certain Japanese company was constructing a new small office building for their Karakura branch, he spotted something on top of a cluster of garbage bags. An idea went through his head and he pondered it over, listing out the pros and cons of the concept. The object on top of the garbage bags looked like an animal. It was definitely empty, too. And he was pretty sure it could be considered as a 'corpse' if you define it as a body that's lacking life. But just to be sure . . .

"Hey, Rukia, do you think a plush toy can be used for the Mod Soul?"

Rukia contemplated it, then shrugged. "Not sure. But I think it might not work."

"Well, there's no harm in trying. Where do you think I should put the pill?"

"Usually, you just ingest it into a corpse, so I think inserting it in the mouth should be fine."

"All right." And with that, Ichigo pulled out the Mod Soul pill and placed into the mouth of a worn out lion doll. They waited for about ten seconds but nothing happened. "Didn't work."

"FIGHT ME!"

Those two words surprised both of them, and Ichigo wasn't prepared for the lion doll to suddenly come to life and attack his face with its garbage-smelling body. The doll reeked of garbage, probably had been sitting on that pile for a day or two. And that smell wasn't necessarily making peace with his sinuses. Without hesitation, he grabbed the toy by its soft spine and threw it to the pavement with an irritated grunt.

"Ah! Damn you, Ichigo," the Mod Soul said, as it picked itself off of the ground. "Don't just stand there and . . . fight . . . me?" At that point, it moved its head up to finally look directly at Ichigo's face. Oh, this is going to be fun.

"Yo, bastard," Ichigo said. He was unable to get the smug out of his face.

"Heh?! Y—you're _huge_! Wait a minute. You're not huge. What the hell? I'm tiny! What did you do to me?"

Ichigo kneeled to the Mod Soul's level. "I'm still pissed at your Hulk comment," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Ready to be my little punching bag?"

The Mod Soul was sweating like it was sunbathing in the Sahara desert at noon. "N—N—N—N—NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The agonizing screams echoed throughout Karakura.

* * *

Ichigo was running. His breath was ragged and his legs were like stiff twigs that were close to breaking their joints. He was pushing himself to the limit. He didn't know how long he had been running but he didn't care. He wanted to get away. _Needed_ to get away.

His zanpakuto was gone, destroyed by the person he was running from. He could feel the person's stare on his back as he swerved to the next street, passing through every human in the vicinity. Faces he did not recognize come and go from his mentality. Sightseeing was for the absent-minded. If he wanted to stay alive, he would do well to keep running.

But that's all he had been doing: Running. He never faced this problem all this time, and he feared he never will. The wounds inflicted upon his person were mild and quite nonlethal. But the scars that were not physical were buried deeper, crawling through his feelings, his emotions, and also his sanity. The person after him was the cause but, at the same time, was not the cause. Nothing makes sense in this world of cat and mouse, where he will _always_ be the mouse, the weakling, the non-decisive bastard.

He felt a pang on his chest; his legs stopped like they were instantly glued onto the pavement. Looking down, he saw the tip of a black blade exiting through the center of his chest. Blood dripped from both its blunt and sharp edges. It was _his_ blood.

"Pathetic," a feminine voice whispered. "You're so pathetic, Ichigo."

Suddenly, the world all around him dispersed into fragments like a shattering mirror. One by one, the shards fell into a dark abyss below him. It was void of everything, and not even his eyes could comprehend what lay beneath that void. And as the last shard dangled then fell along with the rest, the person he had been running from materialized in front of him.

She was smiling. That smile . . . that smile . . . it made him feel cold and defenseless. She made a grab for the blade protruding from Ichigo's solar plexus—her smile widening into an evil grin when she saw him stiffen—and started pulling it out. Ichigo tried to scream but it went out as a muffled whimper. His body quivered as inch-by-inch, the black blade slithered through his abdomen until the hilt guard reached his back. The person frowned a bit when her pulling halted from a slight obstacle, but she grinned again when she tightened her grip on the blade, cutting her own hand in the process, and then pulled it without restraint. He got pulled along, silently screaming.

The person hugged him, while her free hand was placed on his nape. Ichigo had a close look at that person's alluring chocolate brown eyes as she rubbed his nape that sent hot chills down his spine. He tried to push her back but the chills had somehow paralyzed his motor movements. Her hand moved from his nape to his cheeks as he did all he could to keep on resisting. Her eyes were inviting him in, to succumb to her commands, to obey her, to stop his resistance. And he tried his hardest to look away.

"You can't resist me, Ichigo," the person said, her dark orange hair dazzled along an imaginary wind. Her eyes were hollow and contained none of the gentle nature the former person had; what was left were the confidence and carnal desires, seeping through her gaze like a radar for men to let them know she was in heat and in need for some fun."I controlled the princess bitch. What's stopping me from controlling you as well?"

"_Get the hell away from me!_" he wanted to scream but his lips didn't move.

"The day is close, boy. The nightmare has only just begun." She leaned closer to his face.

"Ichigo-kun," another feminine voice whispered, stopping the person's progress in getting any closer than a nose-to-nose confrontation. The voice was gentle, caring, and one he was all too familiar with, even though it had been years since he last heard it. "Ichigo-kun. My baby."

"Mom," Ichigo whispered. Though he couldn't see his mother, he could feel her presence.

"Let him go, now," his mother, Masaki Kurosaki, demanded at his captor.

The brown-eyed female scowled at Masaki, and hugged Ichigo even closer, giving Ichigo the pleasure _and_ torture of feeling the woman's healthy double assets. "You're more of an eyesore than the princess bitch," she said, then grinned. "No matter. Everything will fall into place, in the end."

He could almost image Masaki widening her eyes at that statement. "No! I won't let you do that to him."

"And who will stop me, a ghost?" His captor laughed. "Well, I'm curious to see you try. Mama wants to rescue her little baby-kins. Isn't that sweet, Ichigo?"

"Stay away from him!"

A scowl of irritation appeared on his captors features. "I had my fun with you. Time to go, old lady."

"Mom," Ichigo murmured, trying again to move, but the best he could do was a tiny twitch of his right forefinger. "Mom. Mom!"

"Say goodbye to Mama now, baby-kins."

"ICHIGO!" The sword that was embedded in him moments before was suddenly pulled out through his back. He saw his captor moved it behind her, and then plunged it into someone away from his view. The sound of tearing flesh echoed in his ears.

His mother screamed.

"MOM!"

His scream was full of sorrow, but, thankfully, it did not carry onto his waking from the hellish nightmare of the night.

Ichigo gasped for air as he sat upright in his bed. He was sweating profusely, and he rubbed the spot around his solar plexus where the black blade had been plunged into him inside his nightmare. It had all been so real, so vivid, that he almost thought that it wasn't a dream at all. But there was no mistaking that the terror he had felt from the person tormenting him was the same as when he had first met her in that fateful night two weeks ago. He could never forget that smile.

That brown-eyed Orihime wanted him. It had been clear in her seductive stare. She wanted him, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from wanting her back. Something . . . attractive about her had almost pulled him into a fate he now wanted to avoid after that vampire-like touch as she grazed her hand on his cheek, which drained his energy faster than he could realize it to move away. By then, she would have already pulled him into her trance. If it hadn't been for Rukia, he might not have snapped out of the trance at all.

And his dream fully mimicked that trance. That was what scared him. If his mind could even copy that alluring kind of hypnotism, he felt like he wasn't even safe from himself as well. He didn't even want to think about what might happen to him if he had fully drowned into the trance inside his own dream.

_Nothing_, he thought,_ nothing will happen. It's all just a dream, for God's sake, nothing more._ Yet why did it impacted him greatly? Was it because of his mother's appearance? He hadn't had a dream about her like this in years. A day before her death anniversary, he would dream about that unforgettable rainy day where he found himself alive and his mother dead. On and off, he had the usual nightmares months after the tragedy, but none compared to what he just experienced now. Was it really just a dream?

He covered his face with both hands, sighing through the cracks of his fingers as he shifted his palms through his hair and then to the back of his head. His eyes were closed but he could already tell that it was still night time. Judging by the lack of sound coming from his closet or his desk, he surmised that neither Rukia nor Kon (the newly named Mod Soul) had even noticed his sudden waking. He intended to keep it that way. It wouldn't do to dwell into the past and his fucked-up nightmares. But a question was still itching in his head, though.

Why was the other Orihime in that dream?

Leaving that on the backburner for now, Ichigo tried to go back to sleep. He still had school in the morning, and he didn't want to oversleep because of a simple and relatively normal midnight awakening.

Ichigo rested his head back onto the pillow, stared at the white ceiling that was bathed in darkness as well as mild illumination from the moon outside his open-curtain window, and closed his eyes for sleep to greet him with open arms.

By the time Ichigo had woken up through Kon's Isshin-like way of waking him up, he had forgotten all about the dream. He had the vaguest recollection of waking in the middle of the night, but it was jagged and confusing.

But one thing still made him uneasy.

Today was June 16, the day before his mother died.

* * *

It was another day and another day for school, though it had less tension than before. Orihime felt better now that she didn't have to hide much of her activities to her best friend, but at the same time, she wanted to keep Tatsuki as far away from her troubles as possible. It may be her decision to let Tatsuki know about her duty, you might say, but the uneasiness in losing a friend because of it still haunted her. Tatsuki seemed to understand her intentions but didn't really take any action to it. Orihime guessed it may be the fighter's side of Tatsuki acting without much thought about getting hurt when playing with fire. She didn't want to look dependable, so she wasn't promising Orihime that she'd stay away from Hollows.

She and Tatsuki were just sitting around in their classroom, waiting for the rest of their classmates to pile in and for class to begin.

"Tatsuki!" one of their classmates, Michiru Ogawa, called. Michiru was a short girl with short brown hair, but a smile was often on her face. People would sometimes say that she rivaled Orihime in the smiling department. But in contrast to Orihime, Michiru tended to stir clear of people who didn't smile at all. That meant the short girl was terrified of Ichigo as well as the stoic genius, Uryuu Ishida. "You have art class, right?"

Tatsuki turned to her and nodded. "Why?"

"Did you do the 'My Future Self' project?"

"Yeah." Tatsuki puffed out her chest with pride. "It's quite a masterpiece, if I do say so myself."

"Really? Can I see it? I—I'm not really confident about mine." Michiru fondled her art project in her hands.

"Sure." Tatsuki opened up her bag and pulled out her sketchbook and turned the pages. "Here it is."

Michiru and Orihime looked at the drawing. It showed Tatsuki holding up what looked like a belt to an audience in the background. The foreground was made up of a white mat and ropes tied against posts, making Orihime think about the arena of wrestlers or boxers. Orihime already knew what Tatsuki was aspiring for: A martial arts champion. Tatsuki took pride in wanting to win that champion belt, as much as how she prided making a drawing of her future self actually winning it. So Orihime wasn't surprised of her friend's boasting. And besides, her drawing was very vivid, excellent, and artistic.

"Wow!" Michiru awed. "Amazing. Just seeing Tatsuki's work is making me self-conscious about what I did." She then turned Orihime. "What about you, Orihime? Did you do the project, too?"

"Yes," Orihime answered. "I was hoping you would ask, and, like Tatsuki, I'm very proud of it."

The drawing Orihime made was different than the first one she had already done. The art project had been announced around three weeks ago; she finished it two days after the announcement. But last night reminded her of the project's deadline, and she suddenly had a change of thought in what she wanted to be in the future. At first, she had drawn a version of what she might be in the 'Future' and not the actual future. Since robots were usually present in sci-fi movies about the future, she thought about drawing herself as a robot herself . . . with super-cool features and equipment to make it more interesting. But now, just roughly two hours after revealing to her best friend about her secrets, she decided to scrap her first attempt and redo the whole project. She had all night to do it, but amazingly she finished before midnight. She shouldn't have skipped dinner, but she also didn't want to lose the flow of her drawing as her hand and drawing tools sketched the curves, filled the shades, and colored the whole picture. The end result exceeded her expectations.

"Tada!"

Tatsuki was visibly impressed; Michiru was very confused.

"A . . . kunoichi?" Michiru guessed, not clearly getting the image of the illustration.

Orihime shook her head. "No, my future self is a shinigami."

The new picture Orihime drew was herself in her shinigami robes and holding a red parasol. Her zanpakuto was on the left side of her waist, though only half of it was shown in the illustration. But the expression she drew on her face was of utmost seriousness, a great contrast to her present personality. While she had been coloring up the face, she almost colored the eyes brown instead of gray; she had shivered a little after that. Her hands were drawn each holding something: Her right held the red parasol while her left held the tip of her zanpakuto's hilt.

"A . . . shinigami?" Michiru repeated, tilting her head.

Orihime nodded enthusiastically. She was about to elaborate on her drawing but her eyes caught the sight of orange moving from the door to the inside of the classroom. She closed her sketchbook, wanting to hide this bit of intentions-revealing art from Ichigo, who passed both her and Tatsuki's seats without even a slight glance.

Not deterred by his ignoring them, Orihime stood up from her chair and waved at Ichigo. "Good morning, Kurosaki-kun!"

Ichigo stopped, looked over his shoulder, and . . . smiled? "Morning, Inoue."

His smile was faked. Orihime immediately understood that. Ichigo rarely smiled, but it shouldn't look like it was quite forced. From his posture alone, Orihime now noticed, Ichigo looked really tense about something.

"Eh?" Michiru stared at him, looking dumbfounded. "Did . . . Did Kurosaki just smile? He must be in a really good mood, huh, Orihime?"

Orihime didn't think so. "Why does Kurosaki-kun look so tense?" she asked herself, not really knowing that she said it out loud.

"Michiru," Tatsuki said, "what's the date?"

"Um . . . I think it's the sixteenth," Michiru replied. Orihime saw Michiru look at her digital watch for confirmation. "Yes, it's the sixteenth today."

"I see. Orihime, you're really amazing."

Ichigo smiled at Keigo after he delivered the punchline of a joke he just said. He didn't laugh or even chuckled, though.

"It took me almost three years to realize he was only faking that smile," Tatsuki added. She then whispered, "All because of tomorrow."

"Tatsuki-chan?"

"I know why he's so tense. Tomorrow will be the day he'll skip school to take care of a . . . family matter."

"A family matter?"

Tatsuki shook her head, facing away from her. "Not now. How about I tell you later?"

Orihime knew that that question was actually a statement. But she answered her anyway. "All right."

"Thanks," she whispered before replacing her sketchbook back into her bag, just as the teacher entered the class and thus began homeroom.

Most of the day almost seemed like a blur as Ichigo kept on smiling at anyone and everyone. Orihime wanted to ask Ichigo himself about why he was so tense, but what Tatsuki said to her kept her from doing so. She somehow knew that even if she were to confront Ichigo about this, he would not answer her straight. The only way for her to get some actual answers was to wait for Tatsuki to be ready in telling her. Whatever got Ichigo so tensed must be a personal matter along with the family matter Tatsuki had mentioned. It intrigued her.

And even though she knew that curiosity killed the cat, Orihime couldn't help but know what was wrong with Ichigo today.

* * *

That night, Tatsuki told her everything.

* * *

In the south-eastern side of Karakura, near the border of the Kinogaya district, there was a disturbance in the air. Night was its personal playground. And with a full moon, the one who was causing the disturbance considered it a perfect night. It took refuge inside a condemned apartment building, seeking darkness like a loyal believer. It wasn't alone, though. A homeless drifter was sleeping soundly in his makeshift cardboard cot, lying not more than eight feet from the disturbance. And not once did he find anything wrong. He just kept sleeping, clueless of the fate he will soon face.

The disturbance moved the still wind. The darkness magnified and the shattered windows of the second floor frosted like thick ice. The cold invaded soon after.

The drifter snorted and tucked his dirty blanket to make him more comfortable. Sleep was more important for his carefree mind.

The air around the center of the disturbance twisted in shape, bending light in such a degree that it almost looked like a circular version of a wacky mirror you mostly find in carnivals. This distortion enclosed the light until the center bore a hole of darkness. There was an audible crack, banishing silence by a long shot. The hole expanded and contracted, reaching the outer limits of the distortion like growing black tree roots. The actual outcome of the whole event—which took just ten seconds to complete—was a portal looking like a human-sized parasite.

The drifter woke suddenly as he shivered in the change of temperature. Sleep was important for his carefree mind . . . but not even his basic survival instincts would ignore a swift change in the absence of heat like he had been teleported into the middle of Hokkaido. He stared right at the portal from which this whole disturbance originated from, but his eyes weren't comprehending anything from the roots to the human-shaped shadow exiting the portal's void center; he was only seeing an empty and abandoned room, where he took refuge yesterday.

Mumbling about getting thicker blankets on his next voyage, he forced himself back to sleep.

He didn't even notice the shadow walking straight up to where he slept. It did a once-over on the harmless drifter before it opened its wide mouth and inhaled a mass of air, sucking up everything like a high-powered vacuum. The soul of the drifter ejected out of his body, and only his chain of fate was what was keeping him from being completely sucked into the mouth of the shadow.

Even with the light feeling and absence of a blanket, the drifter's soul slept on.

The shadow halted the passage of air and snapped his mouth shut, making sure to engulf the whole soul. The chain of fate was then severed.

Swallowing without even bother of chewing the panicking morsel in its wide mouth, the shadow looked around the empty room. Finding nothing to further satisfy its hunger for souls, it leaped out from one of the glass-less windows and disappeared into the night.

* * *

While the human-shaped shadow was feasting on a homeless stranger, Rukia's cell phone ringed once, then became silent. She was finding it weird that it would ring only once in every three days. Another mystery she might need to solve, though she's more akin to point fingers at the manufacturers of the phone for faults and glitches in the main system. Nevertheless, the ring-once incidents weren't a sudden cause for alert and Rukia would always put it on the backburner to rot until it was disposed by forgetfulness.


	10. Tragedy on the 17th

Date written: 13/06/09 – 17/06/09

Posted on FanFiction: 17/06/09

A/N: It's a short chapter but it's necessary. Most of what I write here is truthfully of my own creation. Whatever memories Tatsuki had told that was not a part or even coincide to the events in canon, it's all part of the AU situation. I tried my best in researching more on the relationship between Tatsuki and Ichigo, as well as their past together. Add that to some additional info inside the manga. Some places of info have inconsistencies with one another, which is already damn confusing enough. It's quite an interesting way of expressing a different childhood from what _I_ went through, and sometimes I had to parallel their thoughts with my own childhood experiences. Now I don't know if children in general actually think and feel the same way I do around adults (you might call me the insane kid, the oddball of the group, the kid who sat on a bench upside down because he was bored, since, looking back on it, I was all those things), but I try to be slightly ambiguous. I'm no child psychologist, and unlike Stephen King, I didn't get the chance to keep the heart of my childhood in a jar on my desk.

This is mostly a tribute to the death anniversary of Masaki Kurosaki. May she rest in peace, fictionally and fanfictionally.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 10 ---**

**Tragedy on the 17th**

"We met in a karate dojo when we were five," Tatsuki said, shifting into a nostalgic phase of emotions. "My first thought about him was that he was puny. He was always grinning like an idiot back then. That smile he had earlier at school," she paused for a bit, "it resembled the innocent smile he once had. Both of those smiles were driven by one single source. One smile signified happiness and joy. The other was of grief and sadness. Yeah. Just one source.

"You might not believe it, but Ichigo had been a total crybaby. I was even the first one to make him cry in the dojo. Just one punch in the abdomen"—She punched the air for emphasis—"and he's down on the mat. Didn't even take thirty seconds. He'd always cry when he lost, but always stopped once he saw his mom. I took that as a sign of a spoiled brat. He clung to his mom like glue. He'd be holding his mother's hand before she would, actually."

Orihime and Tatsuki were in the former's apartment, both sitting on the side of a single-sized bed wrapped neatly in an orange blanket. Tatsuki had said that before she would go on about the 'family matter' concerning the Kurosakis, she wanted to first tell Orihime about how Ichigo and her first met. And that also included telling about the complexity of the things Ichigo had always gone through annually ever since the seventeenth of June six years before.

"What was her name?" Orihime asked.

"Masaki Kurosaki." Tatsuki reminisced a bit, then chuckled. "I used to call her Aunt Saki-Saki after learning her full name. At the tender age of five I tended to make silly nicknames on a few people. Ichigo was the only one who didn't like it, though, so I only called her that when he's not around or in earshot. But damn, his intuition was amazing. He caught me saying that name every time."

"Have you two always been close?"

"Me and Ichigo's mom?"

Orihime nodded.

"You could say that. She had this presence about her that just makes you instantly like her. Though I may have blundered on my first impression. After making Ichigo cry for the first time, his mom came to comfort him. I just stood by the side, sucking up the urge to say out loud that he was weak. Instead, I said 'Crybaby,' and walked away. My memory is a little fuzzy—it _has_ been ten years and I only saw a glance of it—but I could've sworn I saw Aunt Masaki smile playfully at me after I walked off."

"But that didn't stop you from becoming friends with him, am I right?"

Tatsuki snorted. "_He_ was the one who approached _me_. Back then, I wanted to do nothing with him, even going as far as to say that I don't hang out with crybaby losers. But do you know what his reaction was? He just smiled at me. No malice. No comebacks. Just an innocent five-year-old smile. I was an immature jerk at the time, so I was annoyed at his lack of intimidation or anger over my jab." She looked down, as her hands joined each other with intertwining fingers. She rested her forearms on her knees, staring at her conjoined hands as both of her thumbs began fiddling its counterpart. It was a sign that Tatsuki was nervous about something.

"Tatsuki-chan?"

"Just three days after meeting Ichigo . . . I decided to make his life a living hell."

Orihime found herself rubbing her left hand on the knuckles of her right. Either Tatsuki's nervousness was contagious or she was slightly dreading where this conversation was going. "You didn't . . . did you?"

"Nothing physically harmful, but I tried so hard to push him away every time I get. But each time I do so, he only got even closer to me. And not once did I see him angry at me. It didn't help me a bit that we became classmates on our first day of elementary school. I tried ignoring him, but he'd keep on talking until I yielded by yelling 'Shut up!' right in his face. And the worst part is that I yelled that inside the classroom during lunch. Both of us got scolded by the teacher, but that Ichigo . . . he just smiled at me, saying that he's glad we were on talking levels again."

Orihime giggled. "I never knew Kurosaki-kun had been that enthusiastic."

"You don't know the half of it. He also put more priority on other people than himself. I'm not saying he's selfless; I guess it's just who he is. I remember an incident that happened shortly after the start of our elementary education. Most of the kids in the school were just packs of wolves serving under their alphas."

"Bullies?" Orihime asked, trying to understand her friend's analogy.

"Yeah, and you know what they do to bright-haired kids?"

Orihime nodded, remembering the times where she was bullied because of her orange hair. The bullying had gotten so bad that she was forced to cut it chin-length just so that the frequency would lessen. It had, but the sudden change in hairstyle aroused suspicion from her brother. But that was all it was: suspicion. He didn't take action because she had been too afraid to tell him about the bullies. It was a sort of childhood logic stemmed from the childish belief that sometimes an adult shouldn't know about what goes on around all the time, either because they wouldn't understand or they'd just make things worse.

"I saw a group of older kids teasing Ichigo a few times," Tatsuki said. There was sadness in her tone. "I didn't lift a finger to help him. I just walked by, thinking that this might be a big chance for him to get the message that I did _not_ want to be his friend. But every time I'd reach home, I became angry of myself yet I didn't know why. The bullies always taunted him and Ichigo didn't fight back. That inaction was taken the wrong way by some of the 'alphas' and he immediately began dealing blows."

Orihime stiffened. Her experience with bullies was relatively mild—just mere words and taunts; sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. But to actually hear that Ichigo had worse experience was almost saddening. And as try as she might, she didn't want to pity him. She felt that what she went through may not be in the same level as to what Ichigo went through.

"I was shocked, to say the least," Tatsuki continued, looking up from her hands to face Orihime. "I guess that was where my sense of defending an innocent kicked in. No matter the fact that I was alone and the bullies were bigger and outnumbered me and Ichigo, I still came to help.

"I exchanged blows left and right. If it weren't for my karate lessons, I might've ended up worse than only a couple of bruises. Some were appalled in hitting a girl, and they earned some slight respect from me, not because they won't join in on the fight but because they're respectful enough to know when _not_ to deal blows. The rest didn't mind punching me in the face. It was painful and, at the same time, exhilarating. And in the end, they decided to let both of us go.

"What got me pissed right then was that I did all the work, while Ichigo sat in a corner crying his eyes out," Tatsuki finished with a deadpan expression. "'What the heck is wrong with you?!' I yelled at him. 'Why didn't you fight them back?' I was mad at him. I came to rescue him yet he didn't even lift a finger to help. If it was possible, my hate for him just increased after this. When I had calmed down somewhat, I grabbed both of his shoulders and lifted him up from his crybaby stance. 'What's the point?!' I shouted right in his face. I remembered him blinking as he tried to remove the running tears from his eyes. They were puffy and red, but at least he didn't get a black eye. 'What's the point in learning karate if you aren't even going to use it?!'

"He sobbed a few times before he hugged me. 'Thank you, Tatsuki-chan,' he said to me, and that was all."

Orihime didn't comment, but she was contemplating the tale in her imagination. This time, however, she wasn't making it into a very imaginative event that didn't necessarily go anywhere. Instead, she was seeing the faces of childhood friends who were just starting on a flourishing friendship. The past would always be behind them, but it was because of the past that they were molded into what they were now. If it were not for Tatsuki's defending Ichigo, the two may have never become close friends. Ichigo might have given up on her, then, though Orihime couldn't be sure. It was difficult to picture an Ichigo that was far, in terms of personality, from the one she was very familiar with.

"And I guess that was when our actual friendship started," Tatsuki said, smiling. "Whenever those bullies would make fun of him, I was always there to keep him from getting a knuckle sandwich. Both of our parents were a little worried about the occasional bruises but we used our old excuse of karate roughhousing to direct their attention elsewhere. We still got a verbal bashing more often than not, but at least they were not aware of the bullies. We could've told them anytime, and I don't think Ichigo would really mind saying that _I_ was the one doing the defending, a girl protecting a boy. How embarrassing could that be? But he wasn't a kid to mind that whole thing about masculinity or trying to prove that he was a man and not a boy. He said he thought of me as an older sister, even though, in actuality, I'm two days younger than him."

Orihime had never heard of Ichigo's birthday, another one of the things he mostly kept to himself. So, to think about this mathematically, if Tatsuki's birthday was on the seventeenth next month, then Ichigo's birthday would be two days before that, which was the fifteenth. She stored the information for later.

"Now about Ichigo's mom, I'd have to fast forward it to a few years. Me and Ichigo were still taking karate lessons, and as always Aunt Masaki would always come by the dojo to pick him up. I said goodbye to Aunt Masaki for the last time that day. On some days, I wondered if what I _hadn't_ been able to say to her was like the pebble that tilted the boulder down the mountain. Usually, I would say goodbye with a 'see ya later' or a 'meet ya at school' or whatever. Because if I were to say 'Goodbye' only, it makes me feel like it was a final statement between both of us. And on that day, I was busy talking with another classmate when Ichigo announced that he and his mom were now leaving, so I only waved and said 'Goodbye.' Nothing else.

"In hindsight, I never saw both of them again. When Aunt Masaki died, a part of Ichigo died along with her. His innocence, perhaps; I don't really know. He was never the same. And I'm sure that the rest of his family was the same way."

"How did . . . Mrs. Kurosaki died?" Orihime asked.

"She drowned. It had been raining heavily that day. Ichigo wore a yellow raincoat that fitted him perfectly, while his mom held the umbrella large enough to accommodate both of them. He didn't say anything about what happened that day and I never forced him to. I only came across what happened from the words of another. The most informative one happened to be from Uncle Isshin.

"He told me that passers-by saw a kid in a yellow raincoat hugging a woman lying on the ground. They were found beside the canals, which was flooded with a rapid of rainwater. The ambulance was called but she was already gone. Now remember Ichigo never told anyone about what happened that day, so Uncle Isshin had to tell me a made-up version of what may have happened.

Ichigo might have slipped and tumbled on the downward slope of grass and mud beside the canal. Aunt Masaki must have tried to save him, so she followed him down towards the canal. Ichigo fell into the canal; Aunt Masaki followed soon after."

Tatsuki paused there and took a slight breather. Her retelling of Masaki's death might have sprung up some old memories she needed to fight through. Orihime wanted to say that she shouldn't force herself to tell the story if it was too painful for her, but Tatsuki looked like she wanted to tell this particular portion to the end. If not to finish this, but to at least fend off the bad memories and not cower from them.

"The current of the water in the canal was strong and Aunt Masaki may have found difficulty in hoisting Ichigo back to the surface. She was able to save him but the same cannot be said for her. Ichigo was still conscious, though winded from all the water he swallowed, but nature was against him. Both were wet all over; his mom was wearing a slick raincoat, making it difficult to actually grab her; the heavy rain limited his vision. Neither of us could figure out how Ichigo could have carried a grown woman out of a strong current, but by the time he carried her up to the surface, she was no longer breathing."

Tatsuki inhaled and sighed heavily through her nose before continuing. The tension in the room was sky-high, and Orihime decided to keep her mouth shut until the story was over. Tatsuki was somehow lost inside a world of memories that she couldn't see but only hear through narrating words. Disrupting that flow by asking the girl a question or easing the air of tension, the raven-haired girl might not have another chance in accessing the deeper portions of her mentality where the ghosts of the past linger in secret limbo.

"Ichigo didn't go to school or karate class for the next two days. It wasn't because he had been too struck with grief that he didn't even have the energy or the motivation to go out and learn, but because he would skip school for the whole day. In both of those days, I've seen him standing on the canal where his mom died in the morning and again when I was going home. He just stood there, watching the calm of the canal's river, witnessing the setting of the sun through the reflection of the water. He did nothing else. Whenever his legs got tired, he would sit down and continue silently watching what looked like nothing to others but an image of grief to Ichigo.

"He basically withdrew himself from the outside world, not really caring about how hungry or thirsty he was, not bothering to get into shade when the sun was high up during noon. It was a short phase in the process of coping with Aunt Masaki's death and I'm thankful that Ichigo was able to go back to school only after two days of skipping. But at the same time, I wish he hadn't.

"This new Ichigo that came into the classroom without the usual smile or aura of happiness that was often contagious by all of us in the class, he unnerved me a little. Nobody in class talked to Ichigo about his mother's death, and it stayed that way for the rest of the year. The topic even became taboo after Ichigo clobbered the bullies I've been defending him from, just because the alpha had to open his big, fat mouth. An idiom for that would have to be 'Open mouth, insert foot,' right? Ichigo decided to take that idiom literally, and made the bully have a shoe for lunch. They never bothered Ichigo and me again. Of course, the teachers heard about the fight that might have gone a bit too far, but Ichigo was only guided to the principal's office, got an earful, and just walked back out with a scowl.

"He even stopped calling me 'Tatsuki-chan.' Now, it's always 'Hey, Tatsuki,' 'Come on, Tatsuki,' and 'Hurry it up already, Tatsuki.' By the time we entered Junior High, he finally beat me in a karate match, but left the class soon after. He didn't gloat in his victory like he promised he would back when we were six; he only said 'That was a good match' to me as he lent a helping hand for me to stand up. It was . . . hard seeing him like that, but it was a while later did I realize that there was nothing I can do to wish back the old Ichigo. He became what he was because of what happened in his past. And in the end, I learned to adapt to this new Ichigo, one without hesitation, one without a smile, one without childish innocence."

Tatsuki didn't say another word. A minute of silence between the two girls stretched into five until Tatsuki stood up from the bed and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Orihime sat where she was, processing everything what she learned today. It was during this little bout of deep pondering that she realized that she and Ichigo experienced similar problems in the past. Both experienced the grief of losing a person whom your whole world revolved in; both had to face the taunts and harassments from kids because of their unusually orange hairs; and both were given the burden of being shinigami.

Sounds of a groaning faucet echoed from the dark kitchen, along with the followed sound of running water impacting on the stainless steel surface of the sink.

Orihime didn't understand, but her senses were strangely acute tonight. It was like her body was trying to defend (or prepare) against an enemy, which won't even show up. The immense tension breezing around the room had already dissipated by the time Tatsuki finished with her story, but there was still some bits of tension left. It appeared probably a minute or so at the start of their silence as there was nothing left for either of them to say.

She was tense about something but she wasn't sure what. But there was this feeling in her gut that was pushing her thoughts into formulating a plan of proper action. There was no chance of evading this kind of threat (if there even _is_ one), and the only solution she could think of was to confront it. But the mass of questions remained: Who or what is she confronting? Why does she need to fight it? How can she be sure that there is such a threat?

The questions found no answers except for one, though it was more of a hunch since there was no evidence for her to really back it up.

All these tensions and plan formulations must be the emotions of her alter-ego. That side of her was both cunning and very perceptive of her surroundings. She was the one who had given her the strength needed in eliminating the caterpillar Hollow, and Orihime followed her instructions right down to the letter without missing a heartbeat. That sudden moment of blind obedience saved her life and also made her feel mortified that she can be controlled so easily even though she was technically in control of the body. Of course, she didn't say anything about this to Ichigo and Rukia, believing that this was a problem she needed to face on her own. But maybe it was due to that small voice of her alter-ego that there was a slowly forming link between them. They still couldn't make any back-to-back conversations and Orihime wasn't rushing in that particular department. Along with that link was the connection to her alter-ego's emotions. And she finally understood something that had been bothering her for quite a while. Apparently, her alter-ego took Orihime's infatuation on Ichigo to a whole new level.

In other words, brown-eyed Orihime is _lusting_ for Ichigo.

And that was worrying Orihime to no end. She was now fearing if there ever will be a time that she and her alter-ego would merge as one and she will inherit her other self's perverted thoughts.

But apart from the bad side, she found some useful quirks along with it. The enhanced perception was one of them. Orihime would've tried asking her alter-ego why she was so tense, but the connection between them was still very weak, so she received nothing in reply.

Her gut feeling, however, was a force different from her alter-ego. It was like a tension of her own body about something she was not fully aware of. She only somehow knew that something big was going to happen. It was like she felt a sudden change in the wind, a foreboding sign, a . . . a . . . a _disturbance_ of sorts. And she was dreading it.

"Orihime," Tatsuki called from the kitchen, prompting Orihime to stop her pondering and listen to her. "It's getting late, so I'll be going home now."

"All right. I'll see you out at the door." Orihime stood up, and felt a slithering shiver course down her spine. It was cold. Extremely cold. Her mouth let out a tiny gasp; too soft for Tatsuki to hear. She tried to get her convulsing body back in control but there was something about this sensation that felt unusually disturbing.

She could feel a presence entering this world through unconventional means. It felt familiar, like she had been attacked with this touch of anxiety before, but her cold-suffering mind was too foggy to think up something to fill in the many gaps. And after a span of ten seconds—which felt more like thirty minutes for Orihime—the convulsion stopped. The cold disintegrated into lukewarm air.

Even though she had been shivering because of the Alaskan cold only a few moments ago, Orihime was drenched in sweat.

And the presence she felt earlier was still there, albeit less acute than before. She didn't want to face an enemy with a presence like that. Was this the cause of her alter-ego's worries?

Before she could think about it thoroughly, the presence quivered and ultimately disappeared. Relief didn't come for her, only escalating worry.

Her gut feeling was forming another kind of forebode prediction for her and it involved both that dark presence and Ichigo. Her instincts guide her logical mind into the right track, and it usually doesn't let her down. The only presences she knew that could cause that kind of reaction were Hollows; that narrowed down the list of suspects, somewhat. But this presence disappeared almost as fast as it appeared so suddenly. And she now feared for Ichigo's safety. For now, he was safe but her gut was telling her that _it_ will be back.

Thinking through this situation while Orihime headed for the front door, where her friend was patiently waiting for her, she immediately came to a decision.

"What took you so long?" Tatsuki asked.

Orihime didn't answer her. Instead, she said, "Tatsuki-chan, can you vouch for my absence tomorrow?"

"Absence? Tomorrow?" Tatsuki slightly narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"I felt . . . something. I don't really know what it was, but I feel something in my gut that it will be after Kurosaki-kun tomorrow."

"Are you sure about this, Orihime?"

She nodded. "Positive."

"Then I'm coming with you."

She shook her head. "No. I need to do this alone."

"I'm not—"

"Tatsuki-chan, _please_."

Tatsuki paused, thought on it before sighing. "All right, I'll let you go this time. But you're not going to keep me completely out this time, okay. Do you have your cell phone?"

"Yes."

"Then take it with you. I'll call you around lunch and be sure to text me everything that happens while you're there. You promise?"

"I will."

It was her turn to shake her head. "_Promise_ me."

"I promise," Orihime said honestly.

The girls said their goodbyes, leaving Orihime to sit back onto her bed alone and worried. Standing back up, she brushed her teeth, slipped into her pajamas, and turned off the lights. Sleep didn't come easily to her as she lied down on her bed, but she needed it to be ready for tomorrow. With her newfound acute senses and natural ability to locate Ichigo anywhere by just her sense of smell, she won't be worrying about where and when she would have to go.

Sleep came for her an hour later.

She dreamed of a shadowy, human-shaped figure standing and staring at her with its wild yellow-brown eyes.


	11. 6 17: Cemetery Drive

Date written: 18/06/09 – 06/07/09

Posted on FanFiction: 08/07/09

A/N: I had a bad case of fever (around 39 degrees, I think), dry coughs, a runny nose, and slight fatigue; I refuse to call my illness Influenza for personal reasons. Anyway, it got me bedridden for days. My Mom forbade me to write because she didn't want my condition to worsen. And after I recovered, I had to reread some passages of the earlier chapters so I can re-immerse myself and my muse in this exciting AU I've created. But that was easier said than done. My long vacation in the province didn't quiver my wanting to write down some chapters, but my illness downright prevented from even plotting things in my head. Because of that, it was harder for me to jump back into the story because my muse started to look elsewhere for entertainment.

I think this chapter is rushed, but I guess it should be. Tensions arise as Ichigo's self-control lessened from the grief. And in that, it consequently puts a wall between him and other people. Most especially Orihime. I think I made him too much of an ass in this chapter but I feel that Ichigo is more in-tune with his emotions (grief being the most powerful) than other people, and sometimes he speaks his mind before he can restrain his mouth. And I do mean _sometimes_, but due to the nightmares that diminished his sleeping time, making him more irritable than usual, along with the pent-up grief he feels annually on June 17, _sometimes_ can no longer be considered in the earlier sentence. And we then see how the dark, cynical side of Ichigo leaves no mercy and no sugarcoating.

I'm thinking of making this a 3-chapter sub-arc. This chapter for the introduction; the middle chapter for the battle; the last chapter for the denouement. And like in the 3-chapter 'Her . . .' sub-arc, this 3-part will have a pattern in the title. This time, it's about three songs in an album of a certain rock band. Can anyone guess the band's name and the album? The first one is a good hint; I listen to it while writing, too.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 11 ---**

**6-17: Cemetery Drive**

Ichigo didn't sleep easy last night. When he closed his eyes, nightmares plagued him with ill-intent. He got off lucky with having been able to get some bits of sleep before the first rays of dawn shined down his window. His body demanded him to get some proper sleep, but his heart and mind were thinking otherwise. Today was the _day_. And he'd be damned if he won't get up from his bed and get ready for the trip. This was too important for his family and himself to care about trivial things. He could just sleep anytime _after_ the grave visit; this occasion, however, happens only once a year.

He sat up on his bed and thought for a minute. It wasn't like him to brood like this, but he couldn't help it. The seventeenth of June is a day of grief for the Kurosaki family, but it is also a day of acceptance and perseverance. Ichigo had persevered for the past six years, but he hadn't fully accepted his mother's death. Moreover, he felt responsible in bringing the lasting sadness in his family. Yuzu had to become the light of the family where she'd take most of the chores their mother always did at the start of the day. Karin had changed from an outgoing crybaby to a subdued no-nonsense girl with a reputation of hanging out more with boys than girls of her age. Isshin . . . well, he hadn't changed much as far as Ichigo could remember, but now he couldn't tell whether the man's usual playfulness from the first weeks after Masaki's untimely demise till now were genuine or fake; it could be his way of denial (the giant picture of Masaki in the living room was giant proof) but, truthfully, he was more accepting of her death than Ichigo. Maybe it was his way of trying to keep this family together. Masaki was, after all, the foundation and support of the family. Without her, there had been a chance that the family she had cherished and loved would've fallen apart. But time can heal those emotional wounds.

Sadly, not even time can heal _all_ the wounds.

Ripping off his brooding mood, Ichigo rose from his bed and walked out of his room and towards the bathroom. It was early dawn and the twins were probably still sleeping. Taking a shower was first in his agenda. Next to that was getting ready and head down for breakfast a little while after Yuzu woke up. The day was young and he was in no rush for everything to occur. Rukia might bitch about being left out of the loop and him disregarding a full day of shinigami duty, but he didn't care.

It was already half-past five when he exited the shower.

* * *

_**8:27**_

Orihime rose from her bed, looking more tired than when she lied down to sleep last night. Nightmares invaded the tranquility of her mind with merciless enmity that getting a peaceful sleep was close to impossible. The longest sleep she could recall was maybe an hour and a half, but when you're nodding on and off between the realms of the conscious and subconscious, you tend to have hazy memories of it. But Orihime cared less about her state than the mission she gave herself.

She prepared some herbal tea in the kitchen to at least banish some of the tiredness out of her mind. Settling for something plain for breakfast, Orihime indulged her stomach with two slices of buttered toast and washed them down with the tea. The herbal drink did wonders for her awareness, waking her fully. Next on the agenda was taking a shower. You see, at the time Orihime woke up for the morning, she found she wasn't wearing the pajama top she wore when she went to bed. Instead, she was wearing one of her plain, white, V-neck T-shirts. Checking the clothesbasket, she found her missing pajama top and another white T-shirt; both were drenched in what could only be her sweat.

The shower was relaxing, and it released some pent-up tensions in her muscles as if they had been in a full body workout while she was asleep. And it was this last bit of discovery that Orihime thought about the possibility of her doing something exerting during the night. The haziness of her sleep was already gone, taking whatever memories she could recall about the nightmares she had with it. But whatever those nightmares were, Orihime found herself thinking unconsciously that it was best not to remember.

Orihime flinched a bit when she eyed her body soap, which was oval-shaped and yellow-brownish . . . almost like the shape and color of a malevolent eye.

_Where did _that_ come from?_ she thought to herself, but couldn't find an answer. Shaking her head, she finished up with her shower. She turned off the showerhead, dried herself off with her cream-colored towel, brushed her teeth, and dressed herself up with the clothes she laid out the night before. She then applied some makeup under her eyes to make the bags there less noticeable. Orihime knew that there could be a chance that she might encounter that strange reiatsu's owner, so she made sure to wear something movable. She chose a red T-shirt with a silhouette of a giant rose printed on the lower left side of the front, a pair of slim-fit denim jeans, and running shoes. Not the most fashionable attire but she wasn't thinking about her looks at the moment.

Before she could exit her home, Orihime found a lone envelope next to the front door. Whoever sent it must've used the crack at the bottom of the door to slip the thin envelope inside. Only two words were written on the face of the envelope, but that was enough for Orihime to pick it up and open it: **From Tatsuki**.

The contents of the message were a small note from Tatsuki and a map of the Karakura cemetery. Tatsuki's note said that the Kurosaki family will be visiting Masaki's grave, which was highlighted on the map. Orihime guessed that Tatsuki must've thought late that Orihime wouldn't know where Masaki's grave was (Orihime couldn't blame her for forgetting, because she even forgot to ask her where that was), so she made the note and the map and mailed it herself to Orihime before she went to school. Orihime silently thanked her for the help.

Grabbing the keys from the counter, Orihime stepped outside of her apartment and basked into the overwhelming heat of the morning. It was undoubtedly hot for a day close to the summer season, and Orihime was having a thought of changing her top for that white tank in her drawer. And she would've done so, too, if she wasn't in a slight hurry. With a fresh sigh of the morning, Orihime set out for the Karakura cemetery.

It was approximately a quarter before ten.

* * *

_**10:49**_

The sun was scorching everything in its path. The buildings, the lampposts, the roads, the stone pavements, the gravestones, and even his head, which, with his hair's orange color and spiky-appearance, looked like it had caught on fire. It was quite a morning when the Kurosaki family started out on their outing. The giant star above the clouds was relentless in its desire of shining its accursed heat rays over Karakura, probably taking great pleasure in the suffering of the family, ever since they left home, and Ichigo Kurosaki was not liking it.

He began to wonder how such a day that held so much painful memories could be so different than the June 17th he'd always remember. That day had been raining. This day was the opposite.

But, somehow, Ichigo knew that this sunny day was bound to change for the worse, like the calm before the storm. Well, there he went again, brooding like he had nothing better to do. He thought mildly about trying to think a little more optimistic sometimes, but dismissed it as if it was the dumbest idea he ever came up with. Optimism didn't sit well with his character.

"Here we go! Deadly Daddy Sliding!"

"Get lost to the ends of the Earth!" Karin yelled at their dad as she kicked him in the head, sending him sliding down towards the opposite direction.

Ichigo stepped to the left as his father rolled down the hill like an out-of-control bowling ball. He heard what sounded like a crash of bowling pins when Isshin disappeared at the curve of the street. Ichigo didn't know what kind of thing could've made those noises but he threw his curiosity out of the window. It was best not to know, he decided. And he continued his trek up the hill, following his sisters, who were also ignoring the possibility that their dad might've gotten hurt in that audible crash earlier.

It wasn't until they reached the top of the hill did Ichigo wished he had went back down and checked on Isshin.

"Why are they waving at us?" Karin asked out of the blue, resulting in Ichigo taking his head off the clouds and back to reality. Oh God, he was panicking now.

At the top of a taller hill were Orihime and Rukia, who was waving enthusiastically like a sweet girlfriend greeting her boyfriend. Ichigo was cursing Rukia for the openness in his greeting; it was too insinuating for his sisters to not start questioning him about their relationship. Orihime was subdued, though, and he half-wondered why she was here and not in school.

"Hey, that's Inoue-san," Yuzu said. "Is the other girl her friend?"

"Is she _your_ friend, Ichi-nii?" Karin asked.

Ichigo shook his head vigorously. "No! I don't know her! I have no idea why Inoue is here, too! So don't ask me."

"You know," Karin rubbed her chin, "that girl looks familiar somehow."

To be sure that they wouldn't recover their lost memories, Ichigo _had_ _to_ play along. "Oh wait! Now I remember!" he said, acting a lot like an overexcited Keigo, wishing he were somewhere else entirely, and cursing the Gods for making himself look like a fool. "That's my old middle school classmate. Wow, it has been such a long time since we've seen each other. Now that I've felt so nostalgic I just can't help but go there and talk to her." He jogged hurriedly to the base of the taller hill, and then faced his sisters. "You guys go on ahead! I just need to talk with the middle school friend and Inoue for a while. I'll meet you all at Mom's grave."

"But wait, Onii-chan!"

Yuzu's shout was met with deaf ears as Ichigo dashed up the slope in less than two seconds, grabbed both wrists of the surprised women, and entered the forest via a dirt path, dragging the two girls with him.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Ichigo rested his back on a tree and listened to the birds chirp on the branches. Rukia and Orihime were silent; the latter, however, was more nervous than the former. She was also nursing the wrist he had unconsciously grabbed too strongly. Orihime probably wasn't used to being dragged around like a lifeless ragdoll, and Ichigo thought that he should apologize about that later. Right now, he had to question their sudden appearance.

But there was one thing that he couldn't seem to shake out of his head during the time he had been dragging the two girls into the forest in twenty seconds: Orihime's wrist was tiny and soft.

* * *

_**10:30**_

Orihime arrived at the general area of the cemetery in that time. She was sweating a little, which was inevitable due to the massive heat wave, her lack of proper preparation for a hot day as this like wearing a hat or something, and there weren't that many shades she could nestle into while trying to consult the map Tatsuki had drawn for her. She wiped away the beads of sweat forming on her forehead with a pink handkerchief, and reread the directions of the map. She was still far from the grave but at least she made some progress.

The instructions on the note were not confusing and it wasn't because of her lack of ability in reading the directions in a map that she had been walking in circles for the past twenty minutes, but because she was avoiding one section of the cemetery like it was a quarantined zone. She feared that if she were to see their gravestones she might get sidetracked on her objective, and she didn't want that. And it was due to her avoiding this particular area that she was trying to draw a different and more tedious route than what Tatsuki originally planned out for her. In essence, Orihime wasn't making it easier for herself, but she supposed that this was a small price to pay to keep away from her own troubling grief.

"Inoue-san?"

Her walking was halted by the voice who called out her name. Turning around, Orihime found herself looking at Rukia Kuchiki in a summer dress and bonnet.

"What are you doing here?" Rukia asked, adjusting the small backpack she had with her.

Orihime answered with the first word her mind came up with: "Visiting."

"On the same day as Ichigo?" The girl raised a brow, her arms crossed. "Why do I feel like that this is not mere coincidence?"

"Well . . . I, uh . . . you see . . ." Caught right-handed. She couldn't think of something to retort.

Rukia raised a hand, gesturing for her to close her mouth. "It doesn't matter. I already figured it out."

Orihime almost winced when she said that. It almost sounded like Rukia knew about the foreboding feeling she had experienced last night, but after thinking about the other insinuations to her appearance in the cemetery on this particular day and hour, Orihime surmised that Rukia must've been talking about her worried over Ichigo. _She's probably just as worried as I am_, she thought, _but I don't really think so. She wouldn't know anything about the presence last night . . .would she?_ "Do you know where Kurosaki-kun is?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly. But I do know that they shall be taking that"—she pointed at the top of a hill—"road towards wherever they are going. If we wait, we can intercept Ichigo from there."

Orihime didn't bother asking Rukia how she'd know where Ichigo would come. Walking alongside her without another word, they stood atop of the hill, waiting for the substitute shinigami to make his appearance. But Orihime found the silence unnerving, while Rukia was more than content of standing in the middle of a hot June day with her arms crossed. It made for a slightly funny sight to see a small girl with her arms crossed and wearing a cute, yellow summer dress with a white bonnet. The seriousness she radiated from her eyes and arms, and the cuteness factor she gave off from her clothes and frame didn't blend well together.

"Why are you here, anyway, Kuchiki-san?"

"Must you ask something so obvious?" She wasn't being mean or anything; her left eyebrow was raised with a lopsided smile on her lips. Orihime guessed Rukia might be teasing her about something. "Ichigo is probably the most stubborn man I have ever met. And in that, I wasn't able to convince him to let me tag along."

"So why—?"

"_He_ does not know I am here."

"You're going to surprise him?"

"As much as _you_ going to surprise him, right?"

Orihime blushed. "Well, I can't just let him go here alone."

That seemed to have garnered Rukia's attention. "What do you mean?" she asked with her eyes narrowed.

"I don't know. It's just a feeling I have." She didn't know how she could explain about the disturbing presence last night. It was at the tip of her tongue but she couldn't find the right words to tell it. And in the end, the only thing she _could_ do was keep her mouth shut about the presence.

"And you're acting out on this feeling . . . why?"

"I'm afraid. Not for me, but for Kurosaki-kun. I just have this feeling that he's going to get hurt today."

"And what brought this feeling of yours up?"

Orihime shook her head. "I don't know. All I can safely say is that whatever this feeling is, it's telling me that something bad is going to happen real soon, and Kurosaki-kun won't be able to handle it alone."

"That's amazing foresight, Inoue-san. Are you sure that there isn't more that you aren't telling me?"

Orihime almost blanched. Almost. It was like Rukia can read her as if she were an open book. "Well . . ."

"We'll talk about it later, though," Rukia interrupted. "There's Ichigo."

And sure enough, Orihime saw Ichigo climbing up the slope with his two sisters in front. She noted the absence of their father and wondered where Mr. Kurosaki could be. When Orihime saw Rukia take off her bonnet and waved it in the air at Ichigo, all while giggling like a heroine being chased by the beach by the hero in a cheap romance movie, she had this sudden urge to mimic her attempt on getting Ichigo's attention. But she thought better of it after seeing the incredulous look Ichigo was openly showing. She saw him exchange some words between his sisters before he jogged up to the base of the hill they were on. He turned back to say some last words at Yuzu and Karin; words she couldn't discern from this distance.

It took a total of five seconds before her mind could comprehend that Ichigo was literally dragging her and Rukia away from the paved road of the cemetery and into the quiet forest. Another two seconds to realize that Ichigo can only drag her via physical contact . . . if the warm grip on her wrist was anything to go by.

Orihime might've wanted to stay being gripped like that for maybe a few minutes longer, but Ichigo seemed to have other ideas as he stopped his sprinting, let go of both hers and Rukia's wrists, turned towards them with a _very_ annoyed look, and demanded answers as to why they were here.

"Shinigami do not take a day off unless properly relieved," Rukia answered monotonously. "If I remember our conversation last night, not once did I say that I would let you take a day off."

Ichigo's scowl deepened, his hands firmly settled inside his jeans' front pockets, probably clenched. "So what? You're going to follow me around all day long?"

"That is my original intention, but there is more to this than just mere shinigami duty."

Ichigo looked at Orihime. "And what's your story?"

Orihime hesitated for a few moments before she answered. "I had a feeling that something bad is going to happen today and it might concern you."

"Oh joy. My guardian angel," Ichigo drawled. Orihime felt offended but not mad. He just wanted a day to grieve over the death of his mother, and then she and Rukia suddenly showed up without warning while he and his family were en route to Masaki's grave. If Orihime were in Ichigo's shoes, she might've reacted the same way. Well, maybe not entirely cynical but she would at least show how disturbing-of-privacy this little intrusion was.

Rukia, however, was oblivious to the information Orihime recently found out about Ichigo's history. So it shouldn't come to a surprise on what she said next. "Were you serious about what you said last night, that you're mother was murdered?"

Ichigo visibly stiffened at the word 'murder,' while Orihime stared at Rukia. What did she mean?

"I didn't say anything like that," Ichigo murmured, though his head was facing the ground, like a convict proven guilty with no chance of pleading his innocence.

"Yes, you did," Rukia insisted. "I've been thinking about this for almost the whole night, and it seemed like the most plausible thing that could happen."

Ichigo was silent; Orihime listened attentively.

Rukia crossed her arms again, and said, "Your mother might have been killed by a Hollow."

"Eh?" That was Orihime's reaction, something which Ichigo lacked at the moment. He only looked at the ground, not even stiffening from the strong statement the shinigami.

"You said that you've been seeing ghosts since you were young, so there may be a possibility that your reiatsu attracted a Hollow."

"Kuchiki-san . . ." Orihime tried to sound reproachful but it came out more as a tone of bewilderment. And it rang true with her emotions because she _was_ bewildered. She knew that what Tatsuki said was the truth, but the events that transpired at the canal were merely speculation and only Ichigo knew the truth. So what Rukia might have theorized could either be true or false, and only Ichigo can answer that. But the way Ichigo's shoulders slumped and his whole posture just seemed to shout out 'Very Tense' worried her immensely. It was like staring at a ticking time bomb and Rukia was hastening the decrements of the timer.

But Rukia didn't listen to her. She continued, "It may or may not be actually true but you cannot remove that small possibility."

"Kuchiki-san . . ."

"I know this will be hard to accept this harsh theory but—"

"Shut up!" Ichigo yelled. He punched the tree beside him. His voice was filled with such a . . . foreign emotion to Orihime and the way he exerted almost all of his strength to that one punch like it was a desperate, final attack that she thought that the tree was going to bend and then break like a weak twig. But no such thing happened to the tree; it was still sturdy and unharmed, except for the spot where the bark was dented inward.

Rukia's shoulders rose . . . or twitch might be a better word for it. It seemed she didn't expect the outburst. Orihime didn't either but she predicted that he might have snapped at Rukia sooner or later. He must've been suppressing his irritation until it reached the limit where he couldn't take it any longer. Orihime felt intimidated when he looked at Ichigo's narrowed eyes.

"That's all you ever think about!" Ichigo continued, his voice booming in the relative silence of the forest surrounding them. "It's always Hollow this, and Hollow that. You think that everything involves a Hollow, and I'm sick of it. You really wanna know who murdered my mother, _huh_?" He said the last word while suddenly leaning his upper body forward like feinting a lunge. His eyes looked murderous. "The one who murdered Masaki Kurosaki . . . is me."

Both girls gasped. Before either could stop him, he turned around and ran away.

"Kurosaki-kun, wait!" Her plea didn't reach him. "Kuchiki-san, how could you have said those things to him?"

"I . . . I didn't expect such a response like that from Ichigo," Rukia replied.

"Whether your Hollow theory is true or not, it doesn't change the fact that you put your statements too bluntly for Kurosaki-kun to handle. He had cherished his mother when she was still alive. He lost her when he was nine, and he cried over her dead body in the rain. Would you have just stood there while someone began spewing out a theory about the death of your mother when you had actually been there to see it first-hand?"

Rukia opened her mouth but no words formed into sound. Orihime didn't wait for a response from her as she bolted towards the direction where Ichigo ran away. She felt bad snapping at Rukia like that. The woman wouldn't have known about Ichigo's past at all, so she didn't mean to do that to him. Orihime knew enough about Rukia that she doesn't like sugarcoating her words and doesn't practice it, either. She might've used it in her high school façade a few times but never with her true personality. But Orihime still felt the need to put her in her place.

It wasn't hard to find Ichigo since Orihime could track him by his scent alone. He stood a few feet away from her, his back facing her. He still looked tense but it was slowly fading. Taking this nice and delicately as she could, Orihime tried to converse with him.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

* * *

Ichigo was not in the mood for talking right now. Because of Rukia, he had to relive all of the nightmares that plagued him the night before. All of them were about him being the cause of his mother's death, how if he hadn't gone towards the canal, his mother wouldn't have chased after him and drowned. Ichigo knew she had saved him but it resulted in her death, in the end. And he can't accept that. He just can't.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

He stayed quiet. His anger and denial were still active and rather wild inside his bottle of emotions. And he hoped that Orihime would get the message that he wanted to be alone. He didn't want to see anybody until his flaring anger burned out.

"Kurosaki-kun, I know you can hear me," she said with more insistence. _God, why can't she just leave me the hell alone?!_ Still, he kept his mouth shut. "Please, talk to me."

Ichigo grunted. It was the only reply he could muster.

He heard Orihime sigh before saying, "Kuchiki-san didn't mean what she said earlier. She couldn't have known what had happened to your mother."

Ichigo wanted to be alone, and he _wanted to be alone_ right now. And the only way he could think of was to end the conversation as quickly as he could and just run to another secluded section of the forest. "Just leave me alone, Inoue. I'm not in the mood to talk about it."

"She drowned in the canal, right?"

His eyes widened. How did she—?

"Tatsuki-chan told me."

That explained it. Only Tatsuki could've known and told Orihime. She was close to his mother, after all. But still, the conversation only dragged depressing memories; ones that Ichigo would love to have nothing to do with as of this moment. Being alone sounded really great right about now.

"I said leave me alone," he replied, his voice gruff enough to be considered a growl.

Even though his back was to Orihime, he saw a mental image of her taking a step back from intimidation. But she didn't seem like she was about to give up. The voice might have scared her a little, but it wasn't enough to warrant her leaving.

"You don't have to go through this alone, Kurosaki-kun," she said to him, sounding empathic, like she really understood what he was going through.

_Like hell she is_, he thought angrily. _All I want is to be left alone and she's so dead-set in wanting to talk this thing over? What the hell does she really want from me?_

"Don't act like you know everything, Inoue." He whirled around to face her, his eyes glaring.

"I'm not. I'm just saying that I somehow understand what you're going through and—"

She was interrupted by his humorless laughter. His laugh almost felt as empty as a Hollow's hole. "Understand? Boy, that's rich. Little Ms. Orihime Inoue saying that she understands what I am going through. What a load of bull!"

Orihime flinched, but didn't step back this time. "No, it's not, Kurosaki-kun. I really _do_ understand—"

"Just leave me alone, Inoue," Ichigo said harshly. This will be the end of the discussion. The inner pain was escalating as this conversation kept going to more voluminous ranges of his emotions. He was already starting to lose control over his grief, and showing this to Orihime was like a sign of weakness to Ichigo.

He wanted to be alone. He _needed_ to be alone.

"Kurosaki-kun . . ."

Ichigo didn't want to listen. He turned away from her and walked briskly away.

"Kurosaki-kun, wait . . ."

He looked back over his shoulder and glared at her. It stopped her from following him. Ichigo figure she finally received the clear message. Turning back towards the front, he walked through the dirt path without taking another look back. Even when he heard her say something . . . something he knew was important but he decided not to listen. She pushed him too far. How the hell would she know how he felt? She wasn't there that night to see the glazed eyes of his mother and how cold her hand was when he held onto it as he cried. No, she would never understand.

But no matter how much he tried to deny it with himself, the pain of his grief was small compared to the pain he was feeling in his heart, which started right after he began shouting at Orihime. Choosing to ignore it, he grunted inaudibly and quickened his pace.

* * *

"You're wrong . . ." Orihime whispered. Ichigo still walked, ignoring her. "You're wrong . . . I really _do_ understand what you're going through. I honestly do." But all her words died out in the sudden change of the still air. A mild gale picked up from her left. The leaves danced with the wind, the birds chirped, and the cicadas buzzed loudly.

Alone in the forest, Orihime's tears flowed down her cheeks. She sobbed a few times but tried her best not to have a breakdown. Out of all the things she feared, seeing Ichigo push away her attempts in helping him cope with the long ago loss was a great dread. Now that it had come true, she was lost on what to actually do. Approaching him again was suicidal, if she didn't want to be yelled at by him again. So what was left for her to do?

She guessed maybe going back to Rukia and apologize about her attitude towards her earlier. It was a start, anyway. But the pain in her heart was distracting her. She shivered as her right hand clutched her left breast. Her hand's shiver, however, was not momentary and it kept shaking like a vibrating cell phone, as the grip it had on her breast maintained. She closed her eyes and used every ounce of her willpower not to make another sob. The sadness in her heart was killing it slowly, but for her to get through this she needed to be strong.

Once her emotions were partially under control, she looked around her. And her ears perked up at the oddity of the surrounding noise.

Or lack of it.

The wind was still there but the leaves no longer rustled.

She didn't see any birds nor did she hear any of them chirping.

There wasn't even a cicada buzzing or any kind of insect trying to shatter the silence.

Something wasn't right, Orihime could feel it.

And as sudden as Ichigo's yell at her, a deafening roar breached through the trees and bushes. The noise was undoubtedly loud that Orihime instinctively covered her ears, like how she always covered them when lightning struck too close that the booming thunder seemed to have come at the same time as the flash. And that roar was booming unlike any other animal roar she had ever heard. Orihime only thought about it for a second before she reached the connection, accessing her limited ability to sense reiatsu to double-check her conclusion. There was no mistake about it.

What she sensed was the same presence she had felt last night. And it was frighteningly close to Rukia's position.


	12. 6 17: I'm Not Okay

Date written: 08/07/09 – 25/07/09

Posted on FanFiction: 27/07/09

A/N: I'm back! Did you miss me? I have one reason, and one reason only, for the long wait: Preliminary Exams. That's kinda obvious, don't you think, putting priority to real life and studies, which can only happen once, before a story you can write at anytime? But that's not the worst part. My stress must've accumulated during the grueling weeks of studying (snort) that I've gotten a slight fever on the morning after the final day of the test.

Anyway, my beta and I have been brainstorming over the escalating plot in this story, and let me tell you, it has grown substantially through the months. Ferri had to create not only a Cheat Sheet for the complicated plot (I thank Dean Koontz for his thriller and suspense novels in this) but also a Timeline to keep everything clean and in order. I have estimated that this would be over between 300,000 to 400,000 words before, but I don't think those numbers are enough to completely satisfy the whole story. Think about it. I'm still writing the _first arc_ of the series and it's already reaching the 100,000 words milestone. The Soul Society arc is massive and the amount of characters they've introduced there just shouts out _pages_ filled with über-character development that I need to do. But I don't think I will, not because I'm lazy, but because it's tedious and I'm sure that most of you are already familiar with most of the personalities of the shinigami in the next arc. It would sound kind of redundant if I dig into each and every shinigami's psyche, like a broken vinyl record. To put my explanation in short, I'll be breaking this story down into two parts (three, if you consider the prequel my beta and I are thinking up) and keep the story in a normal pace with minimal pit stops for character spice-ups. Though that doesn't mean I won't be adding in a few original fillers, if any, during the current arc.

Apart from this story's currently unknown total word length (I don't really mind if this turned into an epic length . . . though I'm not a poetic person at all), the storyline has evolved in ways I would've never imagined before. In two or three instances, my beta, NocturnalFerri, has become the voice of inspiration into which I've created and innovated much of the backstory concerning certain characters in canon. (_**Couldn't have done it without ya, Ferri!**_) This is an AU, so this universe will completely diverse from the events of canon once reaching the end of Part 1.

And to a reviewer named **Demonbloodfeeder**: I thought about your suggestion, but, as I said before, I've drawn out the outline of this story from start to finish before I even started writing the chapters out. The events that lead up to the Soul Society arc have all been set in stone months ago. If I were to use your interesting idea, the plot would fail to deliver what I needed for the development in the characters and the plot itself. This story has a massive plot, but I also deeply intertwine the characters into it. And besides . . . I _still_ want to see Byakuya whoop Ichigo's ass.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 12 ---**

**6-17: I'm Not Okay**

Orihime tensed, clearly not expecting her objective to come out so suddenly and without warning. It was strong and as potent as ever. A course of dread cascaded through her body like a crawling snake wrapping around her. The shivers came right after. But there was something else she was feeling, something that contrasted to the definite feeling of fear in her.

The dread was an emotion stemming from her soul. But her alter-ego was mostly feeling a sense of anticipation, like how a hardboiled cop couldn't wait for another brutal and dirty case or how a vampire felt when he was only seconds away from sucking out his victim's succulent blood. Orihime might try to deny this but there was no mistake to what kind of anticipation her alter-ego was hoping for: She wanted a fight. And that dark presence was the target.

The presence moved, shifting ever closer to—

_Oh no! Kuchiki-san!_

—Rukia's place in the forest. Orihime only took four steps forward to where she felt where Rukia was before halting; she glanced back at the dirt path that Ichigo took. The silence of the forest was absolute. Ichigo was already far away. She wanted to warn him of the impending trouble but if she were to do that then it would leave Rukia to fend for herself. Rukia had to be warned about the threat as well. So with a heavy heart, but with a promise to inform him after telling Rukia, she looked away from that small dirt path and ran the opposite direction.

She ran nonstop, leaving her panting and sweating, but she didn't care. The presence was getting closer. Much, much closer.

* * *

_**11:15**_

Rukia sat in the middle of a stairway, silent and undisturbed. She was thinking back to a few minutes ago when Ichigo had confessed of something she had trouble believing. She understood enough about his mother's death to know that he and his family took it hard. When the Kurosakis had left early today, she had come downstairs to the living room, only to see the giant poster of Masaki. The culprit was Isshin, as she undoubtedly pieced together in just less than ten seconds. Masaki was beautiful, that was for certain.

_Ichigo . . . killed his mom_, she thought gravely, opting more to believe that Hollows will make friends with shinigami than this simple fact. The whole situation was all so vague that she couldn't get a proper glimpse of the bigger picture. Ichigo had said that he killed Masaki, but there had to be something deeper than that. She wanted to ask Ichigo about the details but quickly banished that train of thought without even taking it into consideration. Ichigo obviously didn't want to talk about his mother and Rukia would have to respect that.

_He will tell me when he is ready._

There was movement in her backpack and out came a small lion plushie. Rukia could've sworn she had zipped closed her bag, yet Kon was able to get out with little difficulty other than the tight hole.

"Man, it's hot in there," Kon said, using his soft, cylindrical arm to fan himself. "Hey, Nee-san, I'm bored."

"I thought I told you not to come out unless I told you otherwise," Rukia said, a little irritated.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied offhandedly, waving his arm as if to swipe the sound off from his space. "But don't you think that Ichigo could at least have _one_ day off? I mean it couldn't really hurt, right?"

"Shinigami do not rest while in the line of duty. What would happen if a Hollow were to appear and I am not there to eject his soul?"

Kon sighed, and lay back on the bag. "Ah, that's all you ever think about. Hollow, Hollow, Hollow. If you keep that workaholic attitude up, Nee-san, then you won't have many friends in the future."

Rukia said nothing. But she suddenly grew tense as she felt something shift in the air. It was a familiar presence but different at the same time. She remembered where she had felt this kind of feeling before, and it sank her stomach. She had been close to dying the last time she had encountered the unknown creature, and now another one was making an appearance near her location. This didn't bode well for Rukia.

She stood up from the stairway, making Kon fall from the backpack and land face-first with a muffled grunt.

"N—Nee-san, why'd you stand up all of a sudden?"

Rukia didn't answer. She was pinpointing that creature's exact location.

"Nee-san?"

Rukia silenced the plushie with a harsh glare and a hiss to be quiet. She went back to sensing the creature's general area, only to take a step back at the building amount of reiatsu radiating in her surroundings. That meant that the creature was getting closer to where she was.

_We have to get away from here_, she thought worriedly, as she grabbed Kon by the scruff and ran down the steps.

The reiatsu rose in inhuman proportions, followed by a thunderous roar. The dark feeling of the reiatsu was enough to make Rukia hesitate, almost leading her to tumble down the rest of her descent in the stairway. She landed on her bottom, instead.

Before Rukia could stand back up, she heard a crash to the right, and she instinctively turned towards there. Her eyes widened, while Kon shrieked in terror.

Above a small crater of cement in the middle of a path stood a tall human-shaped figure. Its whole body was completely black, while the edges of its outline were like dancing flames of shadow. It looked like he was burning in black fire. Muscles captured most of the outer edges of the body, making it more akin to a bodybuilder's body. Its hands not only had five fingers but also long, protruding claws that looked a cross between a giant eagle's talons and a bee's cone-shaped stinger. The creature even had spiky black hair that reminded her of the hairstyle of the Tenth Division Captain, but it had more of a wild look to it as it reached further down to the creature's shins. The overall appearance was undoubtedly intimidating to Rukia, but what set her off to a temporary state of consternation were the two yellow-brownish orbs staring at her narrowly, as if it thought she was scum that needed to be wiped out.

Without warning, the creature let out another roar, screaming it out to the heavens, and then attacked her. Rukia dodged quickly and missed being skewered deeply by the sharp claws. The creature had attacked with a downward momentum, and since they missed their initial mark, the claws stabbed one of the steps of the stairway.

When Rukia moved swiftly, she accidentally let go of Kon, who was then hurled a few feet away. The creature didn't seem to care much about the plushie since its eyes were completely fixated at her.

"Kon," she called, "go get Ichigo."

"But what about you? How'll you hold him off?"

"Let _me_ worry about that. For now, get Ichigo here or I'll be dead by the next five minutes."

Kon outwardly gulped and said, "All right." Being the Mod Soul with leg augmentations, he wouldn't have problems with distance. The real problem was how he can find Ichigo in time.

The creature had removed its claws from the steps by the time Rukia finished the short conversation with Kon. It raised both hands and thrust them in a descending, diagonal path.

Rukia rolled backwards. The lower end of her skirt was scratched but her gigai was at least unscathed for the moment. The way this creature moved was unlike any Hollow she had encountered. She knew that this reiatsu was truly like a Hollow's, only it had a more tainted feel to it. If her visit with Urahara weeks previous was any evidence to go by, then this creature might just be one of those altered Hollows he had been talking about. If so, then she was not entirely prepared for this encounter. For one, she didn't know the altered Hollow's capabilities and limits; it could be just holding back on her, but she couldn't think of a plausible reason for that. She just had a gut feeling that it was doing so.

For now, she just had to keep moving until help arrived. Her state was still weak for her to handle any kind of Hollow except for very low-level ones. She steeled her resolve and was about to attempt a narrow escape, already formulating a successful plan in her head, but the sudden appearance of something orange distracted her.

_Ichigo!_ she thought with relief, but only for a few seconds before her sight caught the whole picture. _I—Inoue-san?!_

Orihime stood in front of Rukia, facing the altered Hollow.

"Kuchiki-san, the glove!"

Rukia understood immediately what Orihime was talking about, but it didn't really lessen her worries. While she'd be safe in the sidelines, Orihime would have to fight the Hollow alone and without proper training. Of course, there was still the fact that Orihime was the one who killed the first altered Hollow they encountered during the cockatiel incident, but there was no telling whether that was an inborn talent of swordplay or just a one-time thing.

But Rukia didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It was better to arm Orihime with her shinigami heritage rather than fight the Hollow with her in that constricting human body. So without further hesitance, Rukia quickly took out the Soul Glove from her backpack, slipped it on, and slammed her palm on the right side of Orihime's head while using her other hand to grab onto the physical body so that it wouldn't unceremoniously fall down the hill. And Rukia was lucky enough to have done that just in time, because the Hollow had once more tried to attack. It would've stabbed Orihime's face with all five of its claws if Rukia had taken an extra second to eject Orihime's soul.

Because of the timed save, the Hollow stabbed only air, while Orihime, now in her shinigami form, was readying herself to unsheathe her blade. This was something that surprised Rukia since the first time she had seen Orihime take up that stance. Batoujutsu requires much discipline and handling in the drawing of the sword. Orihime's zanpakuto is at the same height as an average nodachi, even though the sheath can only hold a blade with the height of a katana. The nodachi is normally a two-handed sword, which is why the hilt is around a foot or more long. And with a longer blade means that it is harder for a practitioner of batoujutsu to draw out the blade. But Orihime, who had no background on any kind of swordplay, was able to perform the art with little difficulty back then. And now, Rukia thought that this was a moment of truth whether Orihime really was a naturally talented shinigami or a very lucky soul.

Orihime unsheathed her nodachi, almost blinding Rukia with the flash of light that came with its exit, and directed the blade at the extended arm of the altered Hollow. Rukia saw the sharp edge slice through the entire arm like it was made out of water. It was clean, precise, and unbelievably fast. Yet the Hollow's arm looked undamaged. Orihime attacked again, this time going for the Hollow's midsection, but the Hollow dodged backwards while clutching onto the arm she had sliced. The arm began twitching like it had some partial form of epilepsy.

The Hollow rectified the twitching by flexing that arm vigorously. It didn't seem to notice Orihime's swift advance to his left side. Orihime swung her sword horizontally with both hands. It connected with air.

Before either Rukia or Orihime could react, the Hollow reappeared behind Rukia, its claws out and more than ready to strike with pinpoint accuracy. There was no way Rukia could dodge with the Hollow too near. Her survival instincts kicked in, and a kidou spell was already at the tip of her tongue.

"_Sekienton!_ (Red Smoke Escape!)" Rukia lowered to a squat, and then slammed both of her palms to the pavement. Red smoke erupted like a ninja's smoke bomb, giving Rukia a window of escape. She quickly backflipped out of the vicinity of the smoke, though she had to balance herself during her landing. If she were in her spirit form, that little display of acrobatics would've been nothing. It was strange how her gigai was responding less and less to her intended movements.

Orihime moved her body into a kendo stance, her zanpakuto prepared for immediate offense or defense. Rukia could still sense the lingering presence of the Hollow even when the smoke finally dissipated and revealed that the Hollow had disappeared. It was close, but there was no way of telling where exactly it was hiding in. Taking another glance at Orihime's direction, Rukia saw determination in her gray eyes. The grip on her zanpakuto was tight and maybe a little tense, but the girl was not shaking in fear. There was a small lopsided smile on her face which seemed to tell to anyone who noticed it that she was enjoying this.

No, that was not quite right. Orihime wasn't enjoying the situation but rather the exhilaration effected. It was something Rukia often saw in battle-hungry shinigami, like Zaraki Kenpachi, showing off a kind of predatory gleam when they fight seriously. This was something she did not expect, most especially from a gentle person like Orihime. But something was familiar about that smile; it seemed to also radiate a sense of ecstasy, like the orange-haired shinigami was fighting while high or drunk from the pleasures of battle. Rukia was beginning to believe that it might be a combination of both.

A pulse of tainted reiatsu breached her thoughts, whirling her busy mind back into reality. The Hollow was about to attack again, and she had no idea where. The ground made a slight tremor as if a giant had stepped his humongous foot on the ground. The sound of it came from behind her, and even before she could turn around and face her enemy, the feel of its glare was powerful enough to stun her for a few seconds. It just didn't make sense that a trained shinigami like her could be easily handled like a worthless civilian by a Hollow, excluding the fact that this Hollow was altered in some unknown way.

A clash of metal rang in her ears.

Turning a hundred and eighty degrees, Rukia looked shocked to see Orihime locking her blade with the long claws of the altered Hollow. She pushed it back without much hardship. The Hollow took three steps back and readied its claws for another attack. But it didn't come straight away. If Rukia had to take a guess, she would've said that the altered Hollow acted as if it was contemplating whether to make another reckless move like the lunges it had been using more than once during the entire fight. Its fighting instincts were foretelling it of a great danger, and Rukia knew the source of the Hollow's hesitation. Because the aura around Orihime had changed since she blocked that last attack.

"Wow, you're smarter than you look, big guy," Orihime commented. Her voice carried an air Rukia had only felt once, and Rukia was quickly accepting the possibility that Orihime was no longer Orihime right now. "I'm bored right now and I don't like it." She pointed the tip of her blade at the Hollow. "You, fight me till your death."

The Hollow threw hesitation out of its mind and charged with all it's got. Orihime pushed Rukia out of the way and met with the claws of the Hollow once more. She swung her blade around with ease and practice, like an interpretive dance that was rehearsed for quite some time. The Hollow would go for a lunge, then she would dodge without hardship. A horizontal swipe, she'd just jump above or duck under. It was like she already knew where and how the Hollow was going to attack before it actually did it. But what was more intriguing for Rukia to see was the way how Orihime handled her long blade: She was wielding it one-handed.

Rukia blinked. But her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Orihime was actually using a nodachi one-handed.

_That's close to impossible!_ Rukia thought. _A sword that size and length would be too heavy for someone like Orihime to carry with ease, more so one-handedly._ But she can still see the advantages of it. By having a sword of that length being swung around as if it was just a lightweight shinai (Bamboo sword), not only would it catch the opponents off-guard but it could also be helpful in switching between offense and defense. Though it also had its disadvantages. For one, Orihime had to be careful with her handling lest she gets cut from misdirecting the angle of the long blade towards any part of her body.

Rukia lifted herself off from the ground when Orihime pushed her earlier, and stepped back from the battle. Even with the additional distance between her and the two fighters, she had no difficulty in discerning the eye color of the orange-haired swordswoman.

They were brown.

Orihime leaned back, letting another swipe attack from her opponent to cut air instead of her face.

"Hmph. Dumm wie Scheiße," Orihime scoffed, acting like she was having the time of her life.

Rukia already had a feeling that this was going to be a really long battle. Her cell phone, then, suddenly buzzed to life, indicating the response call of a Hollow that was about to appear nearby. She cursed silently while hoping that the upcoming Hollow would be dispatched quickly by Ichigo. Surely Kon had already found him.

Looking at the upper right of the phone's screen, Rukia absently noted the time.

_**11:27**_

She then looked back at the battle, and caught a glimpse of Orihime slashing her enemy without intent for a quick kill, almost as if she wanted to prolong this battle for as long as she could. Yes. This will be a long battle, indeed.

* * *

_**11:16**_

Ichigo stood still over the grave of Masaki Kurosaki, his head low, his demeanor silent and unresponsive. His family took his newfound melancholy as another phase of his so-called denial, but in actuality he was swimming in a pool of self-hatred. This was the grave of their mother, _their mother for God's sake!_

_So why doesn't anyone blame me for her death?_

This was a question he never found the answer to. He didn't want to ask his father as much as he didn't want to admit that he wasn't at fault of Masaki's untimely demise. His family changed because of this day, but not as much as he had.

He heard a roar of thunder. It was faint but it still had that rumble effect in his ears, like the insides of his eardrums were being pummeled with drumsticks in a quick tempo. Looking towards the sky, he saw dark clouds slowly invading the space of what once was the place of white clouds.

_The calm is over . . . the storm is approaching._

His father was nowhere to be seen; the same went for his two little sisters, though he at least had a slight idea as to where they were at right now. More than likely, Yuzu was bawling her eyes out with tears and Karin was beside her to lend a shoulder for the girl to lean on. They were twins, so they had a much deeper connection to each other than what Ichigo could even understand about sibling relationships. Maybe it was because they've met each other since they've been conceived. Ichigo didn't really know.

Time passed uneventfully for a while. He didn't even know how long he had been standing there in front of her grave. His legs felt quite stiff, though they were far from feeling fatigue or numb or both. He just didn't feel like moving from that spot anytime soon.

And during this time alone for himself, he thought back to what he shouted at Orihime.

A single raindrop fell just a few feet away from his face. And for some reason he pictured Orihime shedding a tear from one of her eyes and it raced down her cheek, then fell from her cheek, paralleling the fall of the raindrop. Time slowed down as the droplet was coming closer and closer to the dry, cemented ground. The raindrop was tiny; he compared it to the size of an HB pencil's graphite. In the outside world, it was impossible for the human ear to pick up the sound of the splat. But in Ichigo's mind, that sound reverberated in all the walls of his mentality, shaking and disorienting him from the inside, like putting Mentos into a bottle of cola.

In all his anger over what Rukia had said, he forgot all about Orihime's experience with the death of a loved one. His mind was preoccupied about the concept of his grief and the insinuations formulated from the raven-haired shinigami's mind that his common sense and restraint on his more . . . outspoken emotions were almost nonexistent. And Orihime's reaction to his shouts was something he was having more trouble coming to terms with than the fragility his heart was currently in. When Orihime said she understands him, back when he was oblivious of other people's situation due to his clouded head, he had cared less if he hurt her feelings for saying what he had said. Now, he wished he could go back to that moment in time and erase all of that from every happening. He wanted to wipe the whole thing clean and start over, but there was a difference from what you want and can get and from what you want and _cannot_ get.

_There's no way around this. The only thing I _can_ do is apologize._ Another raindrop came into his view and landed on the ground. This time, there was no distortion in his mind and the splash was inaudible to his ears. And then another raindrop came; another two or three came in succession. _Are you crying, Inoue? Are these your tears or are they mine?_

Ichigo didn't care about the drizzle marching forth towards the concept of rain. He stood there alone, contemplating over what he would have to say in his apology to Orihime.

But that didn't really last long . . .

"ICHIGO!"

Just two feet away, Ichigo's left foot stomped on a lion plushie, crushing its bawling face to the dirty and wet pavement. His left eyebrow twitched in great annoyance.

"Mind telling me why the hell _you're_ here?"

Kon's reply was muffled as Ichigo's foot was still firmly planted on the back of his head. If Ichigo were to take a guess on what the Mod Soul was saying, it would be this: "Get your foot off my head, dammit! Aaah! Some asphalt's coming into my mouth!"

His foot rose from the poor doll's head as the annoyance in him was sedated at just seeing the little thing squirm. He didn't really know why, but seeing Kon suffer in one way or another somehow soothed a bit of his troubled state. Some could call this sadism, but Ichigo thought it was different. He was only cruel to the little thing, not sadistic.

"Answer my question," Ichigo ordered.

"Damn you! Do you know how long I've been looking for you in this wide cemetery? I've tripped over trenches on three different occasions, got chased by bees, and had to climb all the way up eight sets of stairs to get here."

"While I'm sad that your journey in finding me was an unfortunate one," he said nonchalantly, "just tell me why you're here."

"Oh right! Ichigo, you've got to help Nee-san. She's in trouble."

"Trouble? What trouble?"

"Hollow trouble. And that thing looked like it was no pushover, either."

"All right, then—"

A girl's scream reached his ears. And not just any girl; it was Yuzu's.

Ichigo's brotherly instincts took over, and he ran towards where he could pinpoint the origin of the scream.

"Hey, Ichigo, wait up!"

Kon followed close by, but that fact was in the back of his mind right now. The scream of his sister echoed in his head, and he doubled his pace. He climbed up a set of stairs and turned right, entering into a grassy area where to his right was a view of the graves below the hill, and to his left was the sight of the forest he had been in less than an hour earlier.

Another scream. It was Karin's.

Ichigo's blood grew cold as his senses were picking up the scent of a Hollow nearby. Without warning, he pulled Kon by his scruff and impaled his hand into his mouth. Kon protested the invasion of privacy but Ichigo didn't understand a thing he said, seeing that he still had his hand inside the toy's mouth. His fingers went high and low inside that mouth, and there was no telling how much he was disgusted by the wet substance inside—he doubted it was Kon's saliva. After about ten seconds of searching for Kon's pill inside the body, Ichigo went for the alternative choice.

"What the hell, man?" Kon yelled at Ichigo's face once his fingers were out of his mouth.

He paid it no heed and positioned his hands correctly. His right hand was now holding on the back of the plushie, palm parallel to the surface. His left hand was clenched and reeled back as if readying for a haymaker.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait! STOP! NOOOOOOO!"

The punch connected with Kon's stomach, causing him to spit out a small, green pill. Ichigo dropped the toy and grabbed the pill, mid-air. The pill's taste was bitter, but it did its purpose. As the pill traveled into his stomach, Ichigo felt his soul detaching from his physical body. He skidded his sandal-wearing feet on the ground while Kon adjusted himself with a body of flesh and bones.

He heard Karin scream again.

Ichigo grinded his teeth and dashed towards the clearing. There, he saw Karin lying face-down on the grass with her body being stepped on by a giant foot. Yuzu was in a more dangerous situation as her throat was slowly being crushed by a red tentacle, while dangling a few feet above the ground.

He acted quickly, drawing the large mass of metal out of the sheath on his back. Slashing the tentacle, Ichigo shifted his weight mid-air and grabbed onto Yuzu's unconscious form before landing on the ground. After settling his sister on the ground, he turned back towards the Hollow.

It was huge, to say the least. The first thing that came to Ichigo's mind when he saw the creature was 'haystack.' And sure enough, the fur-covered beast's posture resembled the shape of a haystack. The Hollow's mask took about two-thirds of its front, showing off perfectly white teeth with such intensity that it reminded Ichigo of Batman's archrival. It also had two forepaws, while its hind legs were surely covered by the thick fur; he then realized that it was not a foot but a forepaw that was crushing Karin.

"What's this?" the Hollow wondered, looking like he was surprised but it contradicted immensely with the shit-eating grin of its mask. "Ah, a shinigami. Yet again, you sword-brandishing fools have butted in with my meals."

Ichigo saw the tentacle he had sliced off was taken by a second tentacle back towards the host. It entered the domains within the fur, like there was a second mouth from inside that gobbled up the cut appendage.

"No matter. I still have this to satisfy me somewhat."

The Hollow picked up Karin and waved her right next to his slightly open mouth. He exhaled breath that was as thick as steam, making Karin gag at what could be a disgusting smell that could make your stomach churn in uncomfortable ways and your nose in admitting submission just to stop the smell from irritating it further.

He tightened his grip on the hilt and charged straight at the Hollow. He didn't care if he was going to get hurt from this. He had to save Karin no matter what.

* * *

It was somehow a feeling of detachment that Orihime woke up to. Her eyes fluttered open to view the picture of a bright and cloudless blue sky. And what flew between her vision and the sky were petals of Sakura trees. Behind her were the soft earth and the prickly tips of grass. It was like she was in the middle of Hanami, gazing onwards as the petals of the cherry blossoms fly along with the wind, symbolizing the season of spring. But Orihime's mind was clear enough to know that currently the season was summer, not spring. And that déjà vu feeling of hers was strong. They all left no doubt as to where Orihime was currently residing in.

"Get up, child." It was the kimono woman.

Orihime turned her head to the left. Sitting on a low-end bench was the kimono woman. Her hair was undone from the ponytail she had worn the last time Orihime had visited, letting the strawberry blonde curls to cascade down and reaching the center of her breasts, accentuating much more of her overall beauty. Her pale hands held onto her parasol, which was closed and lying right on her lap. Her gray eyes looked like they were waiting for something that Orihime had to do.

It took another moment to realize that the kimono woman was waiting for Orihime to follow her request. So Orihime immediately got herself off the ground, brushing her back side to remove any dirt, though she wasn't sure if it would matter since she was inside her own mind . . . or was it her soul?

The kimono woman tapped the empty seat to her left. "Take a seat."

Orihime complied. She opened her mouth to say something but the older woman interrupted her.

"You have questions you seek answers to, am I correct?" she said, her eyes closed as if contemplating whether to tell Orihime truths or things that were really close to the truth.

"Yes, I do."

"It is about _her_, am I correct in assuming so?"

Orihime did want to know more about this alter-ego residing in her mind along with the spirit of her zanpakuto. Surely the kimono woman would know something about her.

"She's a troublesome girl," the woman said, fixing a strand of hair to the back of her ear, "quite possibly more annoying than Aros. But she seems to have good intentions, even though her methods tend to be more in favor of her own amusement than helping you out."

"Who's Aros?"

"An old acquaintance of your father, and that's as far as I can tell you about either person."

"Why not? Why won't you tell me if you know something?" A sudden thought came to her. "Do you know why I have these powers? You called them my birthright."

"My answers are limited, child. And do not force me to give them to you. I'm doing this for your own good. Such secrets of the past are best left buried within and forgotten."

"But—"

"If you want to know more about . . . your _alter-ego_, as you put it, then ask your questions. I feel that you will be stuck inside this world for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"_She_ took over your body, and I don't have enough control to restrain _her_. The presence of that creature was enough to drive _her_ instincts wild, and _she_ couldn't resist it." She chuckled a bit. "The boredom must have gotten to _her_."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Orihime asked the ultimate question that was about to rock her out of her seat when answered. "Who or what is _she_?"

The kimono woman turned to look at her, gray eyes to gray eyes. She then answered, "She goes by the name of Emi . . . and she is a curse unwillingly given to you by your father."

Orihime was left speechless.

* * *

Emi was excited. Exhilarated. Euphoric.

This was what she had been waiting for: A battle. An interesting battle with a creature she wanted so much to fight and test her potential on. Being cooked up inside the mind of a female human was very boring for her, and she hadn't much time to really explore the flawless movements of this body since the first and second time she took over. She also knew the reason why her 'roommate' was still unable to stop her control over the body while the real owner was stuck inside her own mentality, left in there to make idle talk with the other occupant.

It was because of the enemy she was fighting. Not only did Emi wanted to prolong the fight for more enjoyment of on her part, she also wanted to be dominant for as long as possible. Fun wasn't inside the princess's head. Outside was where it was at, and there was no stopping her once she had her first taste of it.

She dodged another swipe that was intended for a quick decapitation. Honestly, her enemy was becoming more and more predictable that it was just sad to see it being toyed around like a kitten's ball of yarn. Maybe it was time to spice up the fight.

Emi sensed Ichigo-kun several hundred yards away fighting a Hollow that was quite strong and old. She didn't think Ichigo-kun had enough skills to take care of the pest problem by his own, so why not help out. An idea came to her, and she smiled wickedly.

"Hey, shorty," Emi called to the raven-haired shinigami, whom blanched at being referred in that manner. "I'm changing battlefields. Think you can keep up."

Before Rukia could answer her, Emi turned back towards her opponent and said, "Big, muscle-bound doofus! Wanna play tag? You're 'it.'"

And with that, she dashed away towards another battlefield, one that was already occupied by another orange-haired shinigami. Emi was so excited of the prospect of her idea that she was getting goose flesh just thinking about it.

She heard the creature give out a loud roar and followed after her.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

_Hanami_ literally means "flower viewing." It's a traditional custom in Japan where people enjoy the beauty of flowers blooming in spring. The main "flower" the people view are the cherry blossom trees.


	13. 6 17: The Ghost of You

Date written: 29/07/09 – 06/08/09

Posted on FanFiction: 10/08/09

A/N: Another plan gone awry, I had thought that after writing Chapter 12. I wanted the battle to be pretty straightforward but I guess free writing a fight makes it unpredictable, like how most real-life fights tend to be. It all comes down to instinct, condition, skills, and precognition as to what your actions will possibly entail. I keep these thoughts in mind while writing a fight. That way, it keeps everything in a definite sense of uncertainty on how the battle will go. Though free writing can cause some plot holes, I find no fault other than that.

Anyway, I thought I was making a huge risk in giving Emi her name this early in the story, but only one reviewer (not telling who) was able to point out a half-truth of her real origins. Other than that, I think Emi's _secret_ is still pretty much shrouded. And I'm excited for this chapter because I'm introducing an enemy I'll be surfacing in my original arc, but that won't come until Part 2. I have to straighten up some issues with Soul Society first. I found some Bleach fanfics that implement this idea, but they're mostly about the Arrancars and not the Hollows themselves. If anybody knows any fanfic that have the kind of Hollow mentioned in the last sentence of this chapter, would they kindly tell me? I'd like to compare notes, so there would at least be some originality (if the mere appearance of it is not enough . . .).

Apart from that, I think my attention over this fic is diminishing at an alarming rate. I'm busy six days per week, which gives me very little time for writing and getting some of my thoughts together. Here's to hoping that I won't be abandoning this story anytime soon. Balancing between schoolwork and my time on the keyboard doesn't really help.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 13 ---**

**6-17: The Ghost of You**

"Curse?" Orihime repeated in disbelief. "Wait. I don't understand. What do you mean she is a curse unwillingly given to me by my father?"

The kimono woman paused, almost uttering out the first word for her reply. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Not actually 'unwillingly given,' but rather a curse your father had to live with and it passed onto you. No one would've thought that it was hereditary."

"And she—Emi-san—is taking control of my body right now to fight that black Hollow?"

The older woman nodded. "Yes. But please refrain from calling that creature 'Black Hollow.' It is more than that."

"Then what is it?"

"I cannot answer that. Your father had dealt with its kind before, and he wished for you to not get involved too deeply with the information he found and shared with me."

"Then how—"

"I cannot answer how he shared it with me as well," she interrupted. Throughout the conversation, the kimono woman was calm and her answers were to-the-point. "The past is left forgotten, as I've told you before. Please trust me on this. Your father went through great lengths and vows he made me take to keep you in the dark. All I am doing is honoring his last words before he let the Inoues adopt you . . . before he sacrificed himself."

"Then he's dead . . ." Orihime whispered. It was a shock to realize that she really _was_ adopted, but she didn't expect that her biological father had been willing to sacrifice his life for her safety. To be truthful to herself, Orihime admitted that she was having mixed feelings over the sacrifice—whatever it may be—had done to ensure her safety. It was her own father who saved her, but she didn't know the person. And with the kimono woman's tight lips, she wouldn't learn any more than what she already knew. And that left a question: Why was he willing to shut everything about himself to his own daughter like that?

The kimono woman nodded at her, even though Orihime said that sentence as a declaration rather than an inquiry.

Orihime took a deep breath, similar to how her zanpakuto's spirit did it. She then asked, "What about my mother?"

The woman replied, "I'm not restricted to tell you about her, but I know very little. I apologize for this, but your mother died right after giving birth to you."

Orihime's heart sank. Both of her biological parents were dead before she could remember either of them.

"Your father told me that Misato-san—that's your mother's name—had a weak constitution. She wished to give birth to you at home rather than the hospital but . . . she finally relented with your father's plea in giving birth in the hospital. Unfortunately, there were still complications during labor. The strain was too much for her and she died minutes later.

"If there was one thing your father was sure about during the final moments of Misato-san's life, it would be that your mother loved you until her last breath."

Orihime was silent. She needed time to get over the shock and the revelations.

And thankfully, the kimono woman understood her enough to let everything be solved in the fragile world of silence.

* * *

Emi smiled. Her opponent was following her like a dog trying to catch up to a sly fox, and it was just the way she wanted it. What she had in store wouldn't exactly work if it didn't. Preferably, to her, it was more fun to have it following her than not following at all. Whether its target was mainly that Rukia girl was not much of her concern. She saw the way that bitch was looking at _her_ Ichigo, and she'd be damned if any other girl were to get any closer to _her_ man. Orihime was an exception, though; they were, more or less, the same person after all.

It would take less than a while for her to get to Ichigo-kun's area, but that was if she were to put all of her powers to her speed. Currently, she felt like she was running like a snail even though her opponent had a difficult time catching up. This was boring. She didn't mind playing a game of 'Tag,' but the restrictions she would have to make to keep things a little fair was extremely tiresome and also a bother to her fun time. Well, she would have to correct that slight problem.

Stepping on some dry earth, since it rained a while ago, Emi turned around and waited for her shrouded enemy to appear. It didn't disappoint her, as when it took its sights at her standing under a tree, with her hands settled beside her hips, it acted purely out of fighting instinct and came at her without hesitation.

She easily dodged the lunge, though she underestimated the range of her enemy's attack, which caused her to sport a small incision on her left arm. No matter.

The enemy still had the power of its attack's momentum, so it needed a second or two to regain a few of its bearings to about-face and go for a second strike. Two seconds was more than enough for Emi to take advantage of the situation.

Faster than the eye could see, she grabbed onto her enemy's long, slimy (she was disgusted to find out) mass of hair. And with power far beyond comprehension for a simple, orange-haired high school girl wearing a black kimono only in appearance, she yanked onto the hair and began dragging the poor creature without remorse. She didn't have to; these things kill without remorse, so what was stopping her from doing the same to them?

Surprisingly, the creature didn't put up much of a fight. What a big disappointment.

Emi hoped that the Hollow Ichigo-kun was fighting would be more fun to battle than the massive waste of space she had unluckily been stuck with.

* * *

Hands clenched, legs pushed to the limit, and eyes filled with determination, Rukia sprinted with all her gigai could handle. This was a sorry excuse for a faux body if she was limited to only the speed of an ordinary human. If she were in her shinigami form, she would've caught up with that other Orihime and the Hollow who was following the brown-eyed shinigami without gasping for air. Honestly, it was like she was a new recruit of the Shinigami Academy all over again!

She felt bad leaving Orihime's body like that, but there was just something unnerving about the Hollow and the brown-eyed Orihime that Rukia couldn't stand around and let things happen without her witnessing it. She needed more information about the presence of Orihime's alter-ego and what that would exactly entail, if by chance, that she wasn't really on their side. Rukia had to be prepared for anything, so she needed any possible intel she could possibly find.

Turning to her right, she took a moment to estimate how much steps the stairs she would have to climb had. She thought it was twelve. And she didn't really care.

Panting a little as her feet met the top of the stairs, she looked around for any visible clue as to where her targets went. That other Orihime had a destination in mind, but Rukia wasn't really sure. It was hard for her to sense the exact whereabouts of particular spirits, which was why she had the radar inside her cell phone. Wait . . . that's it!

Rukia dug out her cell phone and switched to radar mode. She found two targets within a three-mile radius: The altered Hollow and the other Hollow that appeared just recently. Both were close to each other, located twenty-three degrees and eighteen minutes, north of west, from her position. She headed for that direction, while taking occasional glances back at the radar to be sure that she was still heading at her intended destination.

She could tell that the farthest blip was stationary, which meant that something was keeping it from moving. Either it was Ichigo fighting it or it found some helpless souls to feed on. Rukia hoped it was former, but then again she hoped it was the latter, too, but to a lesser extent. If her hunch was right, then the other Orihime was luring the altered Hollow towards where Ichigo and the Hollow were fighting. Rukia was still unsure over what kind of person this alter-ego of the airhead was, or if her agendas were with them or against them, so she was worried over what this turn of events would do to her, Orihime, and, more dangerously, Ichigo.

She quickened her pace.

There was a flash of orange that entered her vision, and she instinctively yelled out, "Ichigo!"

The blob of orange halted. It was definitely Ichigo, but the expression he had was a far cry to what you would usually see there. In a nutshell, he didn't have his scowl. Rukia knew, then, right away that it was Kon.

"Huh?" His eyes then brightened. "Nee-san, you're alive!"

Yup, definitely Kon.

"Where's Ichigo?" She took note of the two bodies he was carrying under each of his arms. Two little girls, one black-haired, the other was a dark shade of blond.

"Back there"—Kon gestured, with his head, to the direction behind him—"and fighting with an ugly-ass Hollow. Come to think of it, I thought I saw Orihime-chan heading there, too."

"Did you see the Hollow trailing her?"

"No. All I saw was something black she was dragging with her hand."

"Something black?"

"She was running too fast!" Kon defended. "One second she was there, the next she was behind me while dragging along a mass of bla—" He paused. A hit of realization entered his features. "She was _dragging_ that Hollow!"

There was a sound of thunder. Light flashed from above as Rukia felt the wet drops of rain hitting on the top of her head. It looked like it had started raining a few minutes ago; she only noticed it now. Not only that, the image of Orihime's physical body lying on the pavement, soaking in the rain.

"Kon, I need you to go back to where we first encountered the Hollow and retrieve Inoue-san's body. You must then get as far away from that place as possible."

"You don't need to tell me twice," he answered. "I also have to get Ichigo's sisters out of harm's way, too."

"Get all three of them to the shrine not far from here. Stay there until we come for you."

"All right, but come back quickly, please." He looked sheepish as his eyes traveled down to the blonde. "I have a bad experience with Yuzu here, and her mere presence is making me nervous."

"Suck your pride and wait for us."

"Nee-san, you're so cruel!"

Rukia didn't waste time to let him have the benefit of saying that sentence right to her face. She was already sprinting again, hoping to get there in time.

* * *

Ichigo didn't like his opponent. Not because he was being ass-handled like a ragdoll but because he just didn't like his opponent. It was simple dislike that slowly escalated into something that touched the borders of hatred. He also didn't like his opponent because of its arrogance. The guy was too full of himself, yet Ichigo couldn't deny that there was some proof to back up some of the guy's more flamboyant claims. At least he now knew that the Hollow's name was Grand Fisher. But what really set something off within him was that last comment it made.

"It's been a while since I've eaten a shinigami. Mostly, my preferences are women and children, and how I'd lure them into their doom."

Ichigo fought with everything he could; he really did. But there was such a huge gap between his capabilities and the experience this massive Hollow had when fighting against shinigami. And what made it an even bigger gap was that Grand Fisher had killed experienced and powerful shinigami, compared to his mediocre skills in swordplay and experiences with low-leveled Hollows. Ichigo had prowess when it came to saving lives, but he didn't know how far that would go when it came to saving his own life.

There was pain in his arm, pain in his left leg, pain on his back, and pain in his chest. Not _on_ his chest, but _in_ it. That bastard caught Ichigo off-guard and stabbed him with one of its sharp tentacles hidden deeply inside its furry mane. He was merely keeping up with him due to the adrenaline rush. The current pain was toned down significantly that Ichigo was sure that he'd be feeling each wound with a vengeance once he got through this and the rush dissipated.

"What's the matter, shinigami? Had enough fooling around?"

Ichigo smirked. "No. I'm just waiting for your ass to make your next move. I'll be sure to swipe your head clean next time."

"Hah! A mere crack on my mask compared to the several wounds I've inflicted upon your person is proof of your recklessness. Don't you think it's time for a retreat yet?"

"Like I'd run away from you, jackass." He readied his sword.

"Good. Reckless as well as stupid. The perfect meal. But I want to have a little more fun before killing you. Let's see . . ." Grand Fisher presented its lure to Ichigo like an anglerfish. The little girl lure stared at Ichigo with its eyes before it slowly morphed into someone else. "Anyone look familiar, shinigami?"

Ichigo's eyes widened.

"Ichigo," a female voice whispered.

"No . . . no . . ."

His grip on his zanpakuto quivered. It was like staring into the past at a time before her death. Every feature, every detail, it was all her. So much like her that Ichigo was having a hard time believing that this was not _her_.

"Still think you have the guts to attack me?" Grand Fisher asked. He wiggled the lure, inching it closer to Ichigo's face. "She's really here, you know. You don't really want to hurt dear ol' Mama now, right—"

"—Ichigo?" Masaki finished.

"M . . . Mo—"

Ichigo felt pain. In his peripheral vision, he saw something red jutting out of the stomach of his mother, leading straight towards his chest. He saw it stabbed into the middle of his torso, where he felt searing pain, where blood was gushing out from the new hole.

But he wasn't one to give up. He lifted his left hand and tightly held onto the tentacle that pierced right through him, while his eyes darted at the face of a woman he had once sworn to protect but failed. Those beautiful eyes that had shown compassion and understanding before that fateful day were nothing more than glass orbs portraying that kind of feeling.

It was a fake. Everything about this Masaki was a fake. But for the life of him he just couldn't let go. Whether it'd be fake or real, there was always a small part of his heart that told him that it was his mother, that his mother was back and here to stay. Childish and hopeless, yet Ichigo couldn't swerve away that feeling in his heart because of his denial. If this were to go on, he would be fighting a one-sided battle as him being on the losing side.

In a sad twist of fate, Grand Fisher was right. He _cannot_ hurt his mother.

Before he realized it, his hand's grip on the tentacle loosened, and then dropped altogether. It was like he lost the will to fight.

"Giving up, I see," Grand Fisher said.

There was nothing left for him to do. He thought of his father, his sisters, his friends from school, the bizarre relationship he had with a midget who called herself a shinigami. He even thought of the times he spent with his mother. But as the images flash through his mind twice the speed of the fastest bullet train, there was one set of images that was going slower. Voices in his head. Memories of that person's voice.

"_**Good morning, Kurosaki-kun."**_

"_**I'm not a defenseless girl, Kurosaki-kun. I can take care of myself."**_

"_**Why won't you let me help you?"**_

"_**Am I so pathetic that you don't want me to help you?"**_

"_**I want to help you, can't you see that?"**_

Orihime.

They were all about Orihime. From sadness to excitement to every emotion she had expressed in his presence. Ichigo was reliving those moments in time in a slow pace, which was different from all the others. It was as if his subconscious was treating only Orihime different from all the people he'd known, even his family. If so, what was Orihime to him?

What _was_ she to him?

Ichigo blinked as a flash of light snapped him from pondering. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the tentacle still firmly stabbed right between his stomach and chest, but the rest of it was severed. The lure of his mother was inching away from his defenseless form as Grand Fisher screamed in pain.

"You bitch!" it yelled.

He saw black and orange to his right. Trying to stay focused as much as he could but the loss of blood was slowly taking its effects on his body, he saw the orange figure standing right where she had one hand on the black thing and the other on her hip.

"You shinigami are all annoying bugs."

That girl was Orihime. Ichigo was sure, but that pose spoke differently. Combined that with the yawn he just saw her do, it would look more like she was actually Orihime's long lost twin, who had the polar opposite personality. He remembered meeting only one person that radiated an air of dominance, a distinct level of self-esteem, and how she seemed to think more highly of herself than others. Only one person.

"I won't hold back any longer," Grand Fisher stated at the girl.

With his vision somewhat clear again—though he had to squint his eyes to achieve it—he was able to get a good look of her irises: Chocolate brown. It was her.

It was definitely her.

"This has gone far enou—"

As if tired of the Hollow's dragging monologue, brown-eyed Orihime threw the black thing towards it, hitting it directly in the face. Ichigo didn't know how much power she used with that throw, but he had to admit she had a really good arm when the Hollow got pushed back to a few trees when the black thing hit it.

Ichigo tried to stand up but he found his knees shaking and his eyes heavy. His reaction time had diminished as well. He was not fit to continue the fight, but he didn't want to back down. This battle was far from over. All he had to do was stand back up, raise his sword, and . . . and . . . and what? He was injured, beaten, and close to turning up unconscious. The only thing keeping him up was his fighting spirit, and even that was damaged and small.

_Damn it! On your feet,_ he thought, forcibly trying to make his legs stand erect.

"Don't force yourself, cutie," a voice whispered erotically in his ear. It came out of nowhere and so suddenly that Ichigo had let his instincts act first before his mind could comprehend the message. So with an adequate bit of knowledge he had in karate, he swiftly went for an elbow to the gut while facing away from her. His reaction to the situation, however, was slow. Instead of hitting a gut, his triceps was on the receiving end of a well-placed punch that sent some kind of nerve-electrocution through his whole arm. It was as painful as getting tazered . . . though he didn't really have the experience to compare it with.

"Now, now. Play nice, all right?"

Ichigo grunted in response, while nursing his 'electrocuted' limb.

"What?" the other Orihime asked. "No appreciation or even a 'thank you for saving my tail'? You're quite the snob, cutie."

"Like I asked for any of your help," he retorted indignantly. When he turned to face her, their eyes met. And suddenly, Ichigo was lost inside her captivating brown eyes. _No, not again._

One smooth hand went to rub affectionately on his cheek, and he couldn't stop the tingles coursing down his spine from the contact. She blew hot air between his lips, as if she wanted them to filter her breath as they enter the inside of his mouth. Another hand reached for the back of his head, slowly guiding it towards a place where he had a faint sense of déjà vu. And through these moments of sensual actions, Ichigo was paralyzed to halt her advancements. It felt like he had lived through this before . . . but where, he couldn't remember nor was he sure if it really did occur. This was the first time he had ever been so close in proximity to a woman's soft and luscious assets.

"Like what you see?"

He couldn't reply.

Suddenly, there was a roar coming from behind him. He tried to turn, but his eyes were still fixated at the pair of alluring brown orbs and his body was still in a state of consternation that it was impossible for him to take a peak.

"Oh. I guess he didn't have enough, did he?"

"I will kill you for this, shinigami!" Grand Fisher's voice erupted from somewhere. The only thing Ichigo could see was the grin plastered on the other Orihime's face. It was predatory and sadistic.

"Come and try," she said, gesturing with her blade to come here.

He didn't know what Grand Fisher was doing, and with brown-eyed Orihime still making eye contact with him throughout the whole conversation, he was worried over what might happen. When she finally looked away to block an incoming attack, it was only then that Ichigo found he was able to move again. He took the chance and moved as far away from the girl as possible. But with his mad dash, he forgot to bring his zanpakuto with him.

He saw Grand Fisher with its lure out. The tentacles it had used to strike at Orihime were quickly moving back to the insides of the Hollow's thick mane, but she was far quicker than it. She made short work in dismembering all eight (from Ichigo's estimation) of them, annoying Grand Fisher even further; Grand Fisher didn't seem really fazed about the loss of its tentacles. If it were him doing the counterattack, he would've followed through with another attack to at least cause some more damage on the Hollow's cracked mask. Just another sword strike from a zanpakuto might be enough to crack it open before it would have time to repair itself. But brown-eyed Orihime did no such thing; she was staring at the Masaki-lure like she had seen her once before.

"You look just like her," she whispered before her nostalgic look turned into a bored one. "And because of that, I find you annoying."

Before Ichigo could utter a word, he saw her throw _his_ zanpakuto right towards the lure. Grand Fisher maneuvered it away from the direction of the projectile, but the Hollow failed to realize that the throw was just a diversion. By the next second, Orihime had disappeared in front of their eyes, causing a loud noise of static in her wake, and reappeared in front of the lure. She then used her long blade to stab through the chest of Masaki, earning a loud and painful scream to reverberate all over the area. The sound was not deafening and it was not fully heard because of the pitter-patter of the rain, but to Ichigo it was like putting his ear next to an amplifier in full volume. It was a scream he dreaded to hear.

But Orihime wasn't done yet. She pushed forward with her thrust, shifting the position of the lure from the tip of the blade to the hilt guard. She kept pushing forward until her blade met with the mouth of Grand Fisher. Her blade stabbed through the Hollow's giant teeth, entering and damaging the insides of its mouth. Grand Fisher screamed.

While she laughed.

And all of this happened within seconds when Ichigo had a difficult time in merely cracking the mask of Grand Fisher. His dread was back, but this time it was directed at the very person that had most likely saved his life. And Ichigo couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

* * *

Emi laughed at the Hollow's vain attempt in trying to scream. She made sure that when she thrust her blade, her intended target would be the beast's tongue. Even now, the weakling must be gagging from swallowing the blood oozing out of its own tongue. The thought of it made her happier.

But bliss will always be a temporary feeling. It's the drive of a human mind to seek even more bliss and happiness that satisfaction will be nothing more than a word and an impossible achievement.

Looking up, she saw the face of the woman that had resembled someone she knew from the past. She recalled this person through the memories of Orihime, but Emi was sure that the airhead wouldn't remember that far back. The resemblance was uncanny, but Emi knew right away that this was a different person. It was not because that the Hollow reconstructed the face in a half-assed fashion that there was bound to be mistakes in the facial structures—if it was, then it would clearly be recognizable to Ichigo-kun that this was a fake and wouldn't have become distressed about it. The real reason was from the eyes. People always said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and it was clear to see that the person used in the Hollow's lure was a different person from the memories Emi had. The two look very much alike, but only in appearance. Their eyes told a different story.

Emi had to congratulate the Hollow for a very thorough job in the remaking of the lure since even Masaki's eyes glowed with a kind of motherly glow but somehow dulled from these recent events. She wondered whether this Hollow had eaten the soul of Masaki; the Hollow wouldn't have been able to construct such a believable copy, otherwise. It was in those eyes did she find something concrete to compare. Though Emi only had fragments of what she could remember from that year, it was enough for her to decipher what kind of person whom Masaki reminded her of. That person's eyes also had a motherly glow, but, unlike Masaki, it was laced with an unavoidable fear. Fear of what, she didn't know. But she could guess the cause: Emi, herself.

But why she thought of _that_ person at a time like this, she was not entirely sure. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe it was a part of Orihime's subconscious quickly drawing a conclusion to the identity of the person used in the lure. But Emi had already established that that person was Ichigo-kun's deceased mother, so why did she classify her as someone who looked so much like _that_ person?

It didn't make sense, but Emi somehow knew that she was only denying the truth. It was already there right in front of her eyes, the evidence of what she had suspected. Maybe in time she would accept it. It was a very view-altering truth that she wasn't sure how Orihime would react to her suspicions. Well, it wouldn't really be beneficial if she were to tell that girl right away. She knew, from their slight bond, that the kimono woman was conversing with her about a topic that had been delayed for quite too long. It was about damn time, too. She had threatened the old hag that if she wouldn't tell Orihime, then she would. But the secrets they were both keeping from the young girl were still as tall as mountains. But the kimono woman assured that it was all for Orihime's safety and peace of mind. Emi didn't like it when Orihime was not in peace of mind. Her nature is unpredictable, and the kimono woman can only do so much until she reaches her limit.

In a way, the kimono woman was right. Emi was both a blessing and a curse.

A roar from her left derailed her from her thoughts. Emi trusted most of her instincts, so when they told her to flee she would flee. She reached a safe distance just in time for her to see the black creature opening its wide mouth and snapping it shut like a bear trap, engulfing one-half of the Hollow's form. And like a snake swallowing its meal, the black beast lifted the Hollow up as if it only weighed a feather. She saw its neck expand to accommodate the entry of the large, foreign object towards the creature's stomach. Grand Fisher's muffled gagging, which might've been its own way of screaming, could be heard.

Emi stood where she was, while peering through the corner of her eyes at Ichigo. Like her, she didn't move from his spot. Probably surprised by the appearance of the black creature.

The beast roared after finishing its impromptu meal, as if to thank the heavens for the wonderful food. The sound reverberated through the forest as some kind of shadow began to cocoon itself onto the body of the creature. Emi thought that the thing was black enough that there wouldn't be any more need for it to be covered in more black. Her eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right here.

The cocoon slowly morphed into a giant bubble, growing bigger and bigger that it was close to—

_Crap!_ Emi thought. "Get down!"

She didn't wait for Ichigo to react to her warning because she was already on top of him, tackling him painfully to the ground.

Just then, the bubble burst. Black liquid splashed onto the trees and bushes, and corroded them by mere contact. Whatever the substance the creature had used in forming that bubble cocoon, it was definitely acidic even to non-spiritual objects.

"Get off me," Ichigo said, and she complied. But that didn't stop her from feeling his chest for a little while. He was still young and far from having any toned muscles, but she still liked the touch.

But any perverted thoughts she had been thinking up were quickly pushed to the backburner as Emi examined the large changes in the black creature. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and a low growl escaped her mouth as she gritted her teeth.

The creature craned its neck, producing a loud cracking noise as if it was rearranging the vertebrae of its spinal column. It was still human in form, but it had grown to the size of a giant. The long mane of hair was still intact, but not as wild-looking as it once was. Those yellow-brown eyes were still as dangerous and malevolent. But the biggest change happened to be the face of the creature. No, it was more like its first form was shrouded in so much black aura that nobody was able to see its face before. This time, it was clear for anyone with eyes to see.

She heard Ichigo took an intake of breath, and whispered, "What the—?"

Emi couldn't blame him for his disbelief. This was obviously the first time Ichigo-kun had ever seen a Hollow like this without the shroud.

A Hollow with a black mask.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

If you're wondering about that "triceps electrocution" bit, try letting someone punch you in the triceps. I guarantee you'll feel some kind of electrocution resonating from your nerves, running all over your arm. Well, it only happens sometimes . . .


	14. 6 17: To The End

­­­­­Date written: 07/08/09 – 23/08/09

Posted on FanFiction: 24/08/09

A/N: This is currently my most epic chapter ever. I'm quite surprised that it has gone as long as this. I guess there were more contents and loose ends to tie up before I start thinking of going to the next sub-arc. I was tempted to add a kissing scene, but that would be too fast for their relationship, and I don't think that can be considered 'realistic.' It only happens in movies and melodramatic romance novellas, from what I can recall. I'm taking their progress slowly, but at least we get to see some inner insights that indirectly lead to their subsequent pairing up. I built a lot of character in Orihime in this chapter, though I'm still unsure if it's executed correctly and efficiently. Whichever the case, I'm glad to say that this story has finally reached the 100,000 word milestone. One goal down. My now two current main goals for this story: Become the longest Bleach fanfiction story in this site, and reach the 200,000 word milestone before the end of the year.

Some of the readers were saying that I should keep Orihime's Shun Shun Rika because . . . er, actually I don't know why. But then again, those six little fairies have already been implemented into the storyline long before I finished the outline. I didn't want Orihime to become super powerful, so I debated over shinigami powers and her Shun Shun Rika. Needless to say that the inner debate was won unanimously by both. Though I find that having those fairies will make Orihime much more powerful than normal, there is just no way for me to remove them. But because of her shinigami heritage, the fairies will go through radical changes than what you're familiar with. And they won't make an appearance until the next two or three chapters, either.

And congratulations to **Anime Insaniac** for being the first to point out the title pattern of Chapters 11 – 14, whose titles I've taken from My Chemical Romance's 2nd studio album, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Well, this is the end of the Grand Fisher sub-arc, so I'm hoping to end it with a bit of a bang. I even get to use the chapter title for a fitting end on Ichigo's POV. And who knows, maybe in the future I'll be using songs from The Black Parade as well. The songs in that album _do_ have a motif on death.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 14 ---**

**6-17: To The End**

_**11:50**_

Rukia had finally arrived at the place where Ichigo, Orihime, and the Hollows were fighting. She had been watching the two shinigami fight and had been surprised of the power this version of Orihime showed. Rukia found her fighting style when she fought the black-masked Hollow quite graceful, but most of it was now gone. She came to this conclusion when Orihime showed wanton brutality by, first, throwing the black Hollow towards the other Hollow.

Grand Fisher. She knew of that Hollow. Most shinigami did. After eluding the efforts of her fellow shinigami for fifty-four years, Grand Fisher made a name of itself in a few of the gossips in the Shinigami Academy and the lower-ranked shinigami. When she had first heard of that Hollow, she wanted to learn more of it, but the intel around it was scarce since not only was Grand Fisher elusive, it was also dangerous for shinigami to fight. Out of the few attempts in trying to purify Grand Fisher (which was a very tasking job because the Hollow Radar cannot sense individual Hollow signatures; also, the radar only works when a Hollow enters the Material World), only two had survived. It was only by pure luck and cowardice that the two shinigami had lived to tell their grueling encounter with the elusive Hollow, but they were able to tell the others that Grand Fisher was merciless in battle, leaning more on a psychological level of fighting than physical.

And Rukia was finally seeing the truth in those cowards' words. She had seen the giant poster of Ichigo's mother downstairs only once while making her way out of the house. Merciless as the cowards said, Grand Fisher used the image of Ichigo's mother against him. The way the Hollow was getting into Ichigo's head was undoubtedly low, and she couldn't stand for it. But it seemed that Orihime was beating her to the punch, but her method of engagement was questionable. She also didn't like the way the girl was openly flirting with Ichigo, not because she had any interest with the guy. It was just that _now_ was not the right time for flirts when a threat was still around.

At least Grand Fisher was dumb enough (or rather agitated at being treated like dirt by Orihime that it didn't really think before it acted) to scream in indignation, thus alerting the two orange-heads that the fight was not yet over. Ichigo dashed away from the attack while Orihime blocked it. And with his instant reaction from the imminent danger, he had forgotten to keep hold of his zanpakuto, so it was now in the hands of the brown-eyed Orihime. Orihime said a few words at the Hollow—or maybe it was the image of Masaki, Rukia couldn't be sure—before she readied Ichigo's zanpakuto and threw it at the lure. Grand Fisher swerved its lure from harm's way, only to be in the receiving end of Orihime's own zanpakuto as she thrust it like a spear at her enemy's appendage.

The lure's scream was unexpected, and Rukia could feel the pain lingering within the pitch of the woman's voice. She looked instinctively at Ichigo and saw him covering his own ears. He must be suffering much more than she could comprehend. She had never known the pain of losing a parent, being alone in Rukongai (_**tr.**_ Wandering Soul City) during the early years of her life.

When her agonizing screams ended with sudden silence, Rukia was almost hesitant to believe that Orihime had charged forward again and bore a hole through Grand Fisher's front teeth, piercing the interior of its mouth, if she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes. The rain made it hard for her to hear whether or not the Hollow was screaming in whispers, but she only needed to confirm it with how Grand Fisher opened its mouth, only to choke on blood caused by Orihime's nodachi cutting open arteries in its gums or tongue or maybe even both. And during this whole thing, Rukia couldn't escape this weird feeling in her gut that it was not yet over. The Hollow had been subdued and close to being sent to Soul Society—all it needed was a little more crack in its mask. Yet she somehow knew that something was missing. Something—

Orihime jumped back just before a mass of shadow bit down on Grand Fisher's upper body. And Rukia found the origin of that weird feeling. She was so entranced over the earlier fight that her mind had unconsciously pushed back the knowledge of the black Hollow, which was still in their vicinity, alive and most certainly hungry. She had read from the Academy textbooks that Hollows don't necessarily target only human souls to satisfy the never-ending hunger within their being. Shinigami souls were rare for them to capture and eat, but some had already been able to grow strong enough to feast on lower-level shinigami and academy students. But what intrigued her was the Hollows' acceptance of cannibalism. Like the tribal beliefs of humans in the distant past, Hollows often partake in hunting down and eating their own species to grow stronger, to calm their hunger, and to be marked as one that had transcended from a weakling to a being that could conquer and survive.

'The strong shall live and the weak shall die.'

This is what the Hollows residing within the Hollow World do to keep on living. Their instincts rely on the hunger in their hollow hearts, pushing them further into a sort of madness in which the desire to satiate the emptiness within them by any means necessary was all that mattered to them. If others thought it was taboo, they wouldn't care. If others said that eating each other could kill you, they still wouldn't care. All that mattered was satisfaction.

And satisfaction was a feeling a Hollow could never reach. It was a vicious cycle that should've ended with the extinction of the Hollows, but with every purification courtesy of a shinigami—or getting engorged by its own brethren—another soul or two would replace the lost creature.

The black Hollow roared after eating Grand Fisher. Something black and snaky was pouring out of its mouth, dividing into more of itself as they crawled their way towards the edges of its elongated jaw. The Hollow began to expand and form itself into a round, black bubble, growing bigger with each second passed. The snake-like things seemed to have dug inside the Hollow, so they weren't affected by the black creature's sudden body expansion. The black Hollow became rounder and bigger before her eyes.

"Get down!" Orihime yelled as she tackled Ichigo to the ground. Rukia only took a moment to contemplate the cause of the girl's urgency; she then quickly hid herself behind a wide tree as the bubbled Hollow burst into a rain of black goo. The sound was like an explosion of loud fireworks, for Rukia heard ringing in her ears when the spread of the goo had stopped. And the once loud noise of the rains patter with the ground turned into nothing more but the sound of a mild downpour.

Rukia moved away from the safety of the tree's fat trunk. The rest of the place was covered in black goo that was slowly eating away on the bark of the trees, the leaves and branches of the shrubs, and the life of anything it touched. She had no idea what matter of substance could create this kind of effect on anything it made contact with. Acid was a plausible answer, but there was something more than that. She wanted to take a sample and let Urahara take a look at it, but she was afraid on what the oozing, black liquid might do to her if she touched it.

Orihime and Ichigo were, thankfully, safe and untouched by the burst, though Ichigo looked a little flustered as Orihime got off of him. They both turned back to the Hollow, and Rukia followed in their example.

She gasped. Her eyes weren't deceiving her, but this was a sight she couldn't possibly understand. If she thought that things could not get any weirder, then she was undoubtedly wrong. For all the years that she had been serving Soul Society in sending lost souls to it and purifying Hollows from their own emptiness, not once had she seen a Hollow with a mask that wasn't white. Sure, there were some Hollows who had unique tribal markings that all came in different colors and shades, but this was a different mask altogether. A Hollow's mask's base color had always been white; you would never see a Hollow without having the majority color of its mask as white.

What stood there on brown, desolated grass was a human-shaped Hollow with a completely black mask. But that was not the only oddity. The hole every Hollow had was still present in this black-masked Hollow's torso, but what set it off from normal was its . . . its . . . incompleteness. The hole this Hollow had was in the shape of a half-circle.

Snapping out of her shock, Rukia's mind went into overdrive. Whatever intel she had gathered during the past few weeks were utterly useless when trying to decipher this large puzzle, and she was certain that there were a lot of missing pieces. But at least she knew of one person that _might_ be able to explain the existence of a Hollow with a black mask, which had previously shrouded itself in a black cloak-like covering that you couldn't see both its mask and hole. She looked at her cell phone again, needing reassurance that what she was seeing was really a Hollow and not some kind of new creature that could be a threat to Soul Society and the real world. The blip on the radar sent her a wave of relief, but it also made her slightly tense in the arms as her grip on the phone tightened. Relief was for it being a Hollow; tense was for the fact that it was still a threat with unknown capabilities.

Soul Society would need to be informed, but how to approach the subject would be quite a hurdle to jump over. Rukia felt it was in her duty to inform her superiors about the supposed threat, but she also felt that it was not a good idea to tell them without researching a little about the creature. Her word of mouth alone wouldn't be able to convince the higher-ups; they could even label her sighting as delusions and forget all about her warnings twenty seconds later. That was the way of Soul Society, one of the many flaws she had found irritating for the job of a shinigami. And with her being a few weeks late in reporting back wouldn't help her case. It would likely be the ammunition they would use to convince others that she was only making excuses of her tardiness, trying to lower down the sentence for those who come back way past the report deadline. She already knew what the punishments that awaited her were.

Still, she needed more information before presenting her report to Soul Society, punishment or not. She had to start with photographic evidence. Mentally thanking the 12th Division's Research and Development Institute for installing her phone with a camera feature, she immediately set to work in getting some high-resolution pictures of the black-masked Hollow. The only problem now was . . . this was her first time using the camera feature . . . and it was taking her longer than necessary to set the thing up.

When she finally did get it to work (32x zooming included), she accidentally clicked the shutter just as when Orihime clashed with the Hollow, sword to forearm. The picture showed on-screen was a side view of the two's clash, revealing Orihime with a feral grin and the Hollow's black forearm adorning red and brown zigzag tattoos. It was here that Rukia found another comparison between before and after of the strange Hollow's transformation. From afar, one would think that the Hollow's body was covered in shiny soot-colored skin due to the shine from the water wetting it, but if one were to look much closer they would see that the Hollow was actually covered in fur and the shine was only a few white strands of fur mingling with the masses of black strands. Rukia speculated that maybe the tattoos it had were dyed to the fur rather than its skin. It surely would make more sense that way.

But with all she could observe from one mere photo, she doubted it would be enough for valid evidence to prove the truth of her future report. However, it was difficult for her to capture a photo with only the Hollow in it since Orihime seemed determined to fight it without rest.

Out of the many pictures she had taken until the battle was relatively over—so to speak—there were only two pictures of the Hollow without Orihime in it.

* * *

The tears were cascading from her gray eyes. It had been a while after Orihime and her zanpakuto's spirit had been silent with each other, and she was feeling much better now than when she first heard of the grave revelations. Orihime didn't really understand the need for secrecy, but there had to be at least a reason for it; a reason for the kimono woman to not tell her anything about things she mustn't dabble into. And with that thought, did that mean that her real parents were dangerous people, that she was sent away for adoption by her biological father to protect her from his enemies? If so, who were those enemies?

There were a lot more questions Orihime wanted to ask, but her voice seemed to have become too dependent of the silence that she couldn't start with the interrogation. And while she just sat there, crying out a few more tears from the loss that wasn't completely a loss, the kimono woman sat elegantly and quietly. Her stare was towards the cliff, where down below was the gray mist that housed the graveyard of swords. It was like she was waiting for Orihime to ask her next question with patience and a clear mind rather than force her into asking them right away. The kimono woman was a serious woman, Orihime had already noticed that, but she didn't notice how far her seriousness went in a depressing situation like this. Her answers were always direct, wasting no breath for unneeded words. And calm. Very calm. If only Orihime were that calm.

Hoping to follow on the woman's maturity, Orihime wiped the tears away and stifled another sob.

"We don't have much time left, child," the kimono woman informed. "Emi is already fighting the last foe, and I'm at my limit."

_Limit?_ "What do you mean limit?"

"Do you remember what I said to you in the beginning? I am slowly being consumed into your blade, and when that occurs, you and I will no longer be able to communicate until you achieved your shikai."

"Then why didn't you tell me sooner? We could've talked about a lot of things before you had to go." Orihime sounded frantic, afraid. But afraid of what?

"You needed time to grieve for their deaths," she answered. "I decided you should at least know about the fate of your parents before I go."

"You make it sound as if we'll never see each other again."

The kimono woman looked squarely at her. "No, it is more like a feeling that we won't be seeing each other for a long time. I have faith in you, child, but you are just not yet ready to achieve that level of power."

Leaving her questions aside at the moment, Orihime requested something else from the woman. "Then tell me your name."

The kimono woman smiled, as if she had expected her to say those exact words. "Ama******." Her gaze was then back at the cliff. "Judging by your slight deflation, your ears are still deaf to my name."

"Then how?"

The woman said nothing.

"How can I achieve shikai?" Orihime elaborated.

"Through slow, easy steps," she said nonchalantly, leaving Orihime in confusion. "Your first step would have to be controlling Emi without me."

A shiver took hold of her shoulders, tracing what felt like a cold hand down to her shoulder blades. She now realized what she was afraid of: Keeping herself in control of the body without support from her zanpakuto's spirit.

"But how do I do that?" Orihime asked.

"Have you not noticed that most of your fights were won single-handedly by Emi rather than yourself? You have found your will to fight, yet you're still trying to fight your enemies with a dull blade. And while you fight with the reverse-edge, _she_ fights without restraint with the sharp edge. Emi is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because without her, you wouldn't have survived this long with your turmoil."

Orihime knew what she was talking about. It was the time when she had been scratched in the back by a Hollow, landing her in the Kurosaki clinic for a few days. While Dr. Kurosaki had been busy keeping her body alive, her mind was inside her soul (or was it her consciousness visiting the inner realm of her mind?) and being given a test to find her will to fight before the time limit was up.

"In truth, that little episode was caused by the backlash of your powers resurfacing all in one time through a source that would've been harmful to your body. Emi thought it was her chance to kill you, but I was able to find the flaw in her attempt. I could have stopped her myself, but if I did then you wouldn't have had a chance to develop yourself. It was a risk I wanted to take because I honestly believed you would find what you needed." She stood from her seat and walked to the railing. Orihime's eyes followed her movement. "Your reiatsu had still been relatively controllable, and you were slowly adapting the exceeding amount of power. But the injury that reeked of the dark aura of Hollows made your body go into a defensive frenzy, countering the contamination. If it weren't for Emi's existence, your soul wouldn't have been able to survive the powerful backlash of spirit energy working frantically all over that wound."

"What is this contamination?"

"Humans rarely survive after being injured by a Hollow, that is if they ever survived an encounter with one. When a shinigami is the one injured, their high level of reiatsu acts as a repellent to the harmful effects. Your body was still adapting, so that immunity had been both your savior and almost destroyer."

"And now my reiatsu is under control?"

The woman nodded. "Emi is also a curse," she continued, "not only because she had tried to kill you before, but also because of what she is. I must ask that you do not trust her, Orihime."

The way she ordered it was quite stern, making it clear that this was no laughing matter or something to not get serious about; she even called her with her first name. It was only the second time she had done that. But there were still some things Orihime didn't understand.

"Why? Just what _is_ she?" Orihime asked.

"I cannot say more than what I already told you."

Orihime was about to say something, but she was interrupted.

"But she did try to kill you, so wouldn't that suffice your distrust of her?"

Orihime closed her mouth. The woman raised a valid point. Not only that, Emi currently took over her body and she had no idea how to regain it.

"Moving back to the original topic," the kimono woman said, "you will need to get her out of her control. To do that, you will need to demand her to come back here by your willpower alone."

"Willpower?"

"This is your mind and soul, child. Everything, including myself, is yours to control without restraint. You're the ruler of your own will, and nothing must stand against you."

"But what if she'll kill me?"

She chuckled. "You do not need to worry anything of the sort. She and I had a . . . 'heart-to-heart talk,' you could say, and I finally got her to see things my way. If you were to die, then she would, too. And what Emi seemed to fear is death itself. She would do anything to stay alive.

"But that does not mean that she won't find ways to pull you into the deepest depths of your own mind, and gain full control over your body. Be vigilant as well as cautious, child, because I will no longer be there to bail you out."

Orihime watched in horror as the kimono woman climbed the railing as if she were about to jump and commit suicide.

"Wait!"

"My time is almost over," she said to her. "And so is yours." She looked over her shoulder, smiling affectionately at Orihime like how a mother would smile at their daughter. "Be strong, Orihime. Many trials await you."

Orihime choked on her next words. She couldn't say a final goodbye before the kimono woman jumped from the railing and into the gray depths below.

She felt lost and broken, not really knowing what on Earth she would have to do to get the older woman back. She almost lost hope until the kimono woman's parting words echoed inside her head.

_**Be strong, child. Many trials await you.**_

It gave her reassurance and a desire to fulfill the woman's faith in her. Orihime understood how much trust the kimono woman was putting on her, and she hoped that she wouldn't let her down.

_**Your first step would have to be controlling Emi without me.**_

Yes, that should be her objective first and foremost. Orihime couldn't really do anything while being cooked up inside this inner world. And she knew just how to push Emi out and back into the depths of her mind.

Moving her hands to her chest, her left in a fist and her right enclosing it, she bowed her head as if she was praying. Closing her eyes, she whispered these words: "Lend me your strength, and I will lend you my will."

A feeling inside her, as if the wind picked up from somewhere beyond what her mind can fathom. It was like velocity. Speed faster than any living being could go. And she had entered some kind of wormhole that was sending her to wherever the other end led to. She somehow knew that she was nearing it. Something like a barrier had halted her progress for a little while, but it crumbled in milliseconds when she pushed on from its resistance. It wasn't until she was a quarter away from exiting this warp-like velocity that she heard Emi whisper something to her.

"_**Enjoy it while it lasts, princess."**_

There was a flash of light, and Orihime had a feeling that she was back in the real world. She didn't feel anything different, but at the same time she just _knew_ something was different. It could be the air, the feel of the ground, her wet clothing, or maybe even from her current stance which was quite different from her praying position a few moments ago. On a side note, there was something she was grasping firmly in her outstretched hand; something soft, like jelly. Curious, she took a bigger hold of the object, wanting to know what it was first before opening her eyes again. Along with the soft object, she also felt something else that was—

_Wait! Th—thi—this is—!_

Orihime opened her eyes suddenly with a yelp. Only then did she realize the scene she was in. And she felt embarrassed, shocked, and mortified all at the same time.

* * *

_**11:52**_

Emi did not like the new enemy. Due to her connection with Orihime and, by extension, her zanpakuto's spirit, she knew what kind of creature she was facing. She had had a hunch about its nature before it feasted on the anglerfish-like Hollow, but it was now clear to her on what that Hollow really was. The black mask explained everything. It was a Hollow she had not met, but only known through the knowledge Emi had taken from the hag in the red kimono. The hag might have been secretive to Orihime but there is no secret she can keep from Emi. Sadly, the same thing can be said if the situation is reversed. That was why the old hag knew about her plans in trying to kill Orihime while she was in a near-death state, and just look where that led her to. She had only been able to make Orihime stronger due to her attempt, and that was a more indignant failure than merely losing her control over the body. But Emi was not that hurt by it. No, she just needed to bide her time. And just when she thought there was no God for someone like her, she had been given the chance to breathe the air of the outside world again just from the presence of the black-masked Hollow.

And she was sure to repay it with a quick death. Even if doing so would most likely end with her returning into Orihime's little mind-world, she couldn't stop herself, as if she was compelled to eradicate scum like the one in front of her. The mere sight of it sickened her, irritated her.

The Hollow stood on dead grass, a side effect from the metamorphosis it took part in. Though Emi was glad that the transformation did not fully awaken the true potential on what these creatures were capable of. She could see the Hollow hole that represented that locked potential: it was just a half-circle. If it instantly became a half-circle by eating only one Hollow, then the angler-Hollow must either have been quite a powerful one (sarcasm) or one who had eaten a lot of souls. Either way, it didn't matter. She had a new opponent to fight.

Without warning, Emi charged straight ahead, swinging her sword from right to left, intending to cut the creature's head off cleanly and precisely. It was, however, blocked by the Hollow's forearm. Emi was impressed by its own toughness. But she was sure she would have been able to cut that arm in half, if not for the nature of Orihime's blade and the Hollow's which cancelled out her profound strength; no matter how much power she'd put into a thrust or a slash, as long as that Hollow kept using its gauntlet-like forearms, she had no chance of cutting it apart. She needed to attack a softer and defenseless spot.

Even with this disadvantageous predicament, Emi fought on. She prided herself with being a person that transcended much further than any others before her. She was one-of-a-kind, she told herself once. And the kimono hag had agreed with her, albeit reluctantly. She would not lose to a half-assed creature like that.

Still, it would be nice if she could have a sword of her liking. Orihime's nodachi was not really a problem, blade-wise, but its nature was different from Emi's preference. But it was not yet the time for her to use _that_. Too destructive, and obviously too powerful for this Hollow's caliber. It would be boring if it were to have a quick death. That just wouldn't do.

Her blade clashed with the Hollow's forearms for a while before it started dodging her strikes instead. It would also counter a few times before dodging again. It repeated this process over and over. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. This change of tactics—and annoying repetition—intrigued Emi.

"Impressive hand-to-hand, doofus," she said, standing eight feet away from her opponent while Ichigo-kun watched from the sidelines, apparently still in a bit of a shock at all that happened. She was forced to widen the distance between her and the Hollow when it had gotten close enough to hit the chance opening she made during one of her attempts in finding a weak spot. Thankfully, she got away in time before she was hurt by those sharp black claws.

The Hollow responded with a grunt, which puzzled Emi whether it had acknowledged her comment or not.

Wanting to get an intelligent reply, she said, "You got a name? I, at least, would want to know the name of the lout that gave me a sweat in this spar."

Its yellow-brown eyes narrowed. It didn't answer.

"What are ya, mute?"

No answer.

"Deaf?"

No answer.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Again, no answer.

"Or just plain stupid?"

The Hollow lifted its right hand to shoulder-level, claws out. It showed its palm to her, the fingers spread apart and arched, as if they were in a readied position for the Hollow to scratch an imaginary blackboard. The black creature stayed like that for a long time, its eyes still narrowed at Emi.

Emi kept her guard. There was no telling what the Hollow had for a plan. Ordinary Hollows might not be as sufficient as this one, and that kept her pretty much on full alert. Not only that, Orihime's shinigami form was slowly taking the strain of Emi's pushing it beyond its current limit. If anything, Orihime absolutely lacked the strength and speed Emi would need to fight on full power, though that didn't really mean she was fighting seriously right now. Like before, Emi considered this a spar—a _very serious_ spar. And she was holding back, not just for the sake of lengthening the fight and enjoying it more, but also to keep her own body from collapsing at all the moves she would use. Unfortunately, Emi had already done three slip-ups during the fight, if you include the cut she sustained in her left arm before she moved to this portion of the cemetery. The other two were minimal damage and self-inflicted than another cut wound from the Hollow. It was her legs that were the problem. They wouldn't move as fast as she intended them to be, which caused her to pull her whole body back than just sidestepping her opponent's attacks most of the time.

Orihime seriously needed some leg exercise.

Suddenly, the Hollow thrust its arm. The wind picked up and it headed straight towards Emi.

Emi moved her sword to block, not yet realizing that the attack was wind-based. She realized too late as the strong wind felt like someone sucker-punched her in the face. Her eyes closed involuntarily from the presence of the wind flowing through her face, and her eyes opened up again too late for her to completely block the Hollow's follow-up attack, a vertical claw strike aimed for her head. Her head was unharmed, and so was the rest of her body. The only thing that the Hollow was able to injure was her left arm, which she had used to reinforce the block by pushing her forearm on the blunt side of her sword. The claws, however, were long and curved like talons. One of those long claws struck the blade, breaching through the defense, and was able to scratch her forearm.

The Hollow retreated as Emi pushed it away. When she inspected the new wound, she was a little relieved to see that it was not a deep one. But what amazed her was where she was scratched. The cut wound she had gotten earlier intersected her new cut, creating an X-like pattern. The bleeding was minimal, so she didn't need to worry about dying of blood loss.

Now Emi was mad. If the Hollow wanted to play rough, she would give it rough. But she wasn't able to start getting serious when she suddenly heard a noise from somewhere. It was like a static sound, but more controlled and less chaotic. It was more like the sound made by a rain of pebbles smashing into each other as they reached the bottom. Or maybe it was just because of the rain that it sounded like that. Whatever sound it might be, the Hollow seemed drawn to it.

"Master . . ." it whispered.

It was quiet and distorted from the constant noise of the rain, but Emi heard nevertheless. And her stomach churned uncomfortably, as if the ambiguous name struck her much deeper than any other word. But that wasn't really true. Emi was more uncomfortable of the Hollow's tone of voice when it said its first word in her presence. The Hollow was fully submissive to that noise—Emi was now sure that it was a call from this 'Master'—and Emi had never seen any Hollow looking and sounding that submissive before, even if that Hollow was a black-masked one.

"Hey!" Emi yelled, but she wasn't fast enough to stop her enemy from escaping. She cursed loudly. Trying to sense its presence did not work. It was like it had disappeared from the face of the earth. Or more accurately, it had opened a portal back to the place from which it resided. And she was annoyed as hell because her freakin' opponent left mid-fight just to go back to its goddamn Master! Of all the things it could have done to try and escape death, it would have to be that! And worst of all, the Hollow didn't seem to mind being summoned, as if fighting her mattered only little in its god-forsaken life. And this was an offense she could _not_ ignore lightly.

Fuming for a few more minutes, she had calmed down enough for Ichigo-kun to approach her. Rukia was right behind him; they seemed to have conversed with each other while she was distracted by her frustrations.

"Are you all right?" Ichigo-kun asked. That was so sweet of him, worrying over her.

"Fine," she replied with a sweet smile, though it unnerved him more than easing him, which was her original intention. She needed to take her approach lightly; Ichigo-kun was uncomfortable with her. Better add something to her earlier sentence so as to appear she cared . . . which she did, somewhat. "You?"

Ichigo-kun looked surprised. "Uh, fine, I guess."

She inspected him thoroughly. He had been ragged and torn when she last saw him, but not anymore. She looked meaningfully at Rukia.

The woman nodded, as if answering the question Emi had not even asked yet. "I healed him," she informed.

Emi narrowed her eyes at her. While thankful that Rukia healed Ichigo-kun's wounds, she still didn't like her hands moving all over his body. That should be a special privilege only for her and Orihime, and she'd be damned if anyone else were to come and try to woo her man under her watchful eye. She walked towards her, inching her head closer and closer to Rukia's, which unnerved the woman at the close proximity. Emi didn't care; she wanted to get her message across, clearly and dangerously. When her lips were beside the raven-haired woman's right ear—which was also a position where Ichigo-kun could not see her face due to Rukia's head blocking it—Emi whispered, "The only thing that I can tolerate for you to get close to what's mine is to heal him. Anything else, I consider it you trying to steal him away from me." Her voice then turned menacing. "If I ever find you doing just that, I will _kill_ you." Eyes narrowed, she then growled with gritted teeth, "I _will_ kill you."

She backed away, and saw Rukia's frightened and anxious. She hoped that the bitch got the message.

"Rukia?" Ichigo-kun called. When he saw her eyes narrowed at Emi, he quickly turned to the girl and said, "What did you say to her?"

"I only told her something that Orihime had been thinking of, but was too kind to actually say."

"Lies," Rukia said. "Inoue-san would never think of that threat."

"You're forgetting that _I_ am a part of her, so whatever I said will still be Orihime's."

"Just who the heck are you?" Ichigo-kun questioned.

She smiled. "I am Orihime, and I am not Orihime. But if you insist on a name, just call me Emi."

"What did she say to you?" Ichigo-kun asked Rukia, seeing that Emi wasn't going to elaborate on the 'threat.'

"To not get close to you, from what I understand," Rukia replied, keeping her distance from him, as if the threat was to be taken seriously.

"Why?"

"Because you're mine," Emi answered.

"I'm not your property." He took her answer as some kind of threat because his hand instinctively went for the hilt of his zanpakuto, which was supposed to be sheathed in its scabbard, but Ichigo-kun only touched air. Emi, though, knew right where that ogre sword of his was. Embedded on one of the trees, yards away from where they were. Realizing now that she was the only one with the sword, Ichigo-kun resorted to glaring at her.

Oh how she loved that rebellious part of him. That deep scowl made him look funny as well as cute. She really liked it when her prey was playing hard to get.

"What did you do to Inoue?" he questioned.

_Is this an interrogation or something? Why can't the guy ask something about me, instead, like what are my likes and dislikes?_

Emi shrugged. "She's somewhere."

She would've made more fun out of their confusion, but she felt the tug in her mind that signified Orihime fighting back for control. The Hollow was now gone, so there was no meaning for her to stay any longer. Guess it was time for her to leave. She believed that it would be another while before she could break free from the confines of the princess's mind-world again, so she wanted to do something to leave her mark this time. Terror and memories wouldn't be enough. She had a different thing in mind. Maybe she could have one last bit of fun with Ichigo-kun, after all. It might also help her in knowing more about the orange-haired shinigami.

"What do you mean 'somewhere'?"

Emi tapped her forehead. "Somewhere in here, and it seems like the little princess is fighting my barriers to regain control over this body." She smirked at them. "We won't be seeing each other again for a long time, I'm afraid. But before princess gets the chance to finally come back, I have a little surprise for you." She inched closer to Ichigo-kun. "Question: What is Orihime to you?"

Ichigo looked taken aback. "What?"

"Indecisive?" Emi frowned. "That just won't do." She soon smiled when he didn't resist her hands grabbing both of his. His big, strong hands were cold from the rain, but also had his enchanting warmth. She liked both. "Do you know how much you rock my world, cutie?"

Taking the initiative quickly, Emi placed Ichigo-kun's left hand on her right breast and his right hand on her most sacred spot. She moaned softly from the feel of his hand on one of her mounds, and it grew even louder when she moved his wrist in a circular motion. The hand touching the thick fabric between those warm and cold fingers and her untouched crevice was less than desirable. Though Emi had a feeling that this was the only place where pleasure was greater than having her breast fondled by a hand other than her own, the fabric acted as a sort of protective barrier shielding her attempt for a chance of finally getting "touched," to a degree. But it didn't really matter much. She was more interested in the effect. Something as profound and delicate and irreplaceable as this feeling other than the desire and lust her actions obviously showed would take more time to develop. She and Orihime may be closer to a stage that must be far more than simple puppy love, but Ichigo-kun's feelings were uncertain and the space reserved in his heart for "The Girl" was still pretty much empty, of that Emi was sure. And she was also sure that once Ichigo-kun got out of his shock (he basically stood stunned and in disbelief seconds after initial contact with her private places, and did nothing to stop her, while Rukia stood where she was, probably debating whether or not to intervene, but eventually decided on the latter because the threat was surely still fresh in her mind), then maybe—just maybe—he'd start thinking of her as a candidate for that reserved spot.

This plan might also backfire—there was always a margin for error for this—but she had confidence over her decision, and how this would entail to Ichigo-kun's reaction once he got it into his head that Emi was disappearing and Orihime was reappearing, while his hands were still firmly planted on her breast and her groin. If it did backfire, then at least Emi was able to gauge out Ichigo Jr.'s . . . ahem, _potential_, as it stood in attention from all the (ahem) attention; a little fondling and Jr. was up and about. If she couldn't get a place in his heart through normal means, then what was stopping her from forcefully taking it?

"You like?" she asked.

Ichigo didn't look like he heard. His face was as red as blood.

The tug pulled her back from dominant control. She was slowly moving away from the world of reality and into the realm of Orihime's mind-world. Wanting to say some parting words to the girl once she realized the position Emi had put her body and Ichigo-kun in, she said these words: "Enjoy it while it lasts, princess."

When Emi finally felt her senses on reality slowly diminishing to black and nothing, she vaguely wondered that if she were to do these things to Ichigo-kun more often, then would that eventually lead to her and him becoming parents before turning eighteen. Well, now _there_ was a food for thought.

Emi returned to the mind-world with thoughts of what their future children would look like.

* * *

_**12:12**_

Ichigo couldn't think straight. His hands were preoccupied with two things that almost fried up his thought processes. No matter how much he would try to deny that anything indecent had entered his thoughts, there was no hiding in his mind that he could never have imagined that a woman's boob could feel this _soft_.

This was unreal. Totally unreal. What would happen if he were to fondle the nipp—

_No, no, no! Stop thinking about that!_

He darted his eyes away from the hand fondling on Orihime's breast, and was about to pull his hands away—

"Kuro . . . saki-kun?"

He flinched. Inspecting the girl's eyes, he was staring wide-eyed at two gray orbs. They looked frightened, confused, and embarrassed. Ichigo had no idea how he could get out of a situation like this, and the only thing that his dry mouth could utter were unintelligible words. He was still pretty much in shock over Orihime's alter-ego's—_Emi was her name_—boldness that the thing she had said about Orihime coming back was temporarily disregarded while his brain tried to reboot after getting fried. Out of all the things his mind might have been thinking during those generous few seconds of deciding what to do exactly, the thought of Orihime waking up to a scene as . . . _misunderstanding_ as this did not cross his mind at all.

And he was currently paying the price for that.

"Ino—" He stopped to clear out the knot in his throat which resulted in him sounding like a deranged chipmunk on cannabis. "Inoue, this isn't what you think." And to prove that, he quickly pulled his hands away from the two unique organs of the female anatomy, blushing madly all the way. "I—I—I—I—" _I am _really_ making a fool out of myself_, he finished inwardly.

Orihime looked at the ground and avoided his gaze.

"It's all a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding," he insisted, avoiding looking at her. The sight and the touch were still fresh in his mind, and he was sure that he'd lose the ability to talk again if he were to look at Orihime when he wasn't yet ready to face her. He rubbed the hairless surface of his nape, a force of habit he had gotten; this action helped him calm down somewhat when he'd try to explain something embarrassing to someone.

"It's okay," she whispered.

"Eh?" Ichigo kept his gaze away from Orihime. He heard what she said, and his surprise was obvious even if you didn't get a look at his face.

"I said i—it's okay," she repeated, louder this time. "I know it wasn't your fault."

Breathing deeply and exhaling it out slowly, Ichigo steeled his will and turned his head to look at her. Her head was still down, and her hands were trying to cover up the places where he had touched, as if the shitagi and kosode (_**df.**_ The under- and over-shirt of the shinigami uniform, respectively) were not enough to make her decent. It was like she was afraid that he'd try groping her again even when she said that it wasn't his fault. But that was beside the point. For Ichigo, it was still him who was at fault. He could blame it all on Emi, but that didn't explain his hesitation at the slightest. Ichigo wanted to say something to Orihime, but something else was holding his tongue hostage.

"I . . . uh . . ." Words couldn't be formed. This situation was as delicate as thin ice; heck, Ichigo even felt like he was walking on thin ice. One false step and it was the cold, blue icy water below.

Neither said a thing. The air around them was quite awkward.

"Are you two done yet?" Rukia asked, breaking the silence. At that moment, it was as if something dark and gloomy had been lifted from the surrounding air.

"Uh, yeah," Ichigo said, hesitatingly. "I guess so."

"No, you are not."

"What?"

Rukia bashed his head.

"OW! The hell was that for?"

"Apologize."

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"You haven't apologized to Inoue-san yet."

"No, no. There's no need," Orihime interjected. "I don't really mind it. It was an accident, so no need for apologies."

"But—"

"Let's just go," she insisted. "I don't want to stay in this place a minute longer."

"We will," Rukia replied, "but not until the idiot apologizes." She jabbed her thumb at Ichigo's direction.

Orihime wanted to convince the woman otherwise about that, but Ichigo agreed on Rukia's order. He still felt at fault for the incident, and the only way he could think of for him to move forward and let the past be the past was to start apologizing.

"I'm sorry," he said before Orihime could say another word of protest. And he gave those two words his honest feelings of the matter.

Orihime paused, looked at him, blushed, and then looked away. She was twiddling on the hem of her right sleeve with both hands. If Ichigo were not feeling sorry for himself, he would've thought of that action as a little weird. Then again, a lot of things about Orihime were weird.

She was silent awhile, nervously fidgeting the hem like a shy person who had no idea about social interactions. "A—apology accepted," she murmured at Ichigo, then said to Rukia in a normal voice, "Can we go?"

Rukia crossed her arms, looking strangely at Orihime. She looked like she was in deep thought for a few moments before her eyes shot out in surprise and a small smile adorned her lips. She had this facial expression that clearly shouted out, "I see," and Ichigo knew that that face was mostly reserved for people who learned of someone's dark secret but had no ill-intentions about it. They instead thought of the realization as the last piece of the puzzle, and were merely smiling in self-gratification for solving the mystery.

"I've told Kon to take your sisters and Inoue-san's body to the nearest shrine," Rukia said. "We will rendezvous with him there."

"Are you sure it was a good idea keeping Kon in charge of my sisters and Inoue's body?" Ichigo asked.

"Did you have something else in mind?"

"No."

"Then I had no other choice. Besides, what's the worst he can do?"

Ichigo already had a reply ready for that question, but chose to keep his mouth shut. It involved Orihime's body and Kon's lecherous tendencies, after all. The girl had already experienced an accidental groping in her shinigami form, and she was already a little cautious of him. He'd be just adding fuel into the fire by saying his remark out loud.

So instead of a verbal answer, Ichigo shrugged.

"Unreliable, I know," Rukia said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yes, but your eyes were practically screaming it."

_You're not a mind-reader, Rukia,_ he thought, _so stop trying. You're only making yourself look foolish._

"Let's just go," he replied.

Before going, they went somewhere nearby to retrieve the lion plushie for Kon and Ichigo's zanpakuto. Thanks to Rukia healing him up while Emi was fighting that black-masked Hollow, his body didn't feel as sore as he thought he would. He didn't ask her anything about that black-masked Hollow, though. Rukia had that look about her that told him he should _not_, by any circumstances, ask until she was ready. When that would be, he was not sure. And he just knew that he'd be growing impatient at each passing day.

And thanks to Orihime's familiarity of where they currently were, the three were making good progress in getting to the shrine. When Ichigo asked Orihime if she had been to the cemetery before, he was surprised to hear that she hadn't set foot here since she was nine years old.

"Then how'd you know your way around here?"

"Practice," Orihime answered, as if that was enough to make sense of the whole thing.

Ichigo thought it better not to ask anymore. All in all, Orihime was quite a weird girl. But that aspect of hers was something he considered cute . . . and sometimes enigmatic.

* * *

_**12:36**_

The whole Karakura cemetery was vast due to the forest blending with the rows of gravestones. People said that the area had a violent history during the early periods of Edo, and ghosts would often scare visitors during the night. But neither Orihime nor Ichigo believed any of those old ghost stories because of obvious reasons. Whether it'd be day or night, there was always a spirit lurking in every district of the city, unseen by humans. They were exceptions, and as such had already accepted that dead souls walk (or rather float) among the living. The cemetery should be no different yet they had only seen a few of them floating around. And Orihime was sure that the barren field of gravestones was a result of their fight with the Hollows; they'd practically scared off the rest of the wandering souls in the area. If they hadn't fled, she and Ichigo would've performed konso and lead their souls to Soul Society.

The shrine was then at their view. It was small and compact, around the same size of an average gazebo. Apart from its relatively old-fashioned design and age, which may or may not have dated back to the earlier days of the Edo period, it provided adequate shelter from the rain. The door that led to its interior was left ajar, and though they didn't peer through any of the windows, Orihime knew that Kon and Ichigo's little sisters were inside. The door wouldn't be ajar, otherwise.

They entered the shrine.

"Orihime-chan! Nee-san! You're ba—"

The raven-haired woman slammed her palm on the shouter's head and closed it into a fist to secure the pill. The soulless body fell to the floor, but the former was saved from painfully hitting the latter by two orange-haired shinigami. One of them immediately turned the body around and inserted himself into it, merging soul and body together again.

"Glad Pops is not here," Ichigo commented, wincing as he rubbed a hand on one of the many sores on his body.

"I concur," Rukia said, nonchalantly tossing the Mod Soul pill in the air. "It would be difficult to explain our presence here." Catching the pill mid-air, she took the plushie toy on her other hand and fed it the green orb. The lion doll convulsed and its black-dotted eyes blinked.

"I'm back!" Kon announced proudly before a foot stomped him on the head. He was 'eating' the pavement. The rest of what he said was too muffled for anyone to make sense out of.

"Aren't you being a bit too mean to him, Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime asked. She had spotted her physical body while Rukia was preparing for Kon's extraction, so she was already back in her own body but she was currently feeling quite uncomfortable due to her clothes being soaked to the brim. Even her slim-fit denim jeans were quite wet that she felt it was heavier than before. It didn't help that her bra and panties were wet, too. If she didn't get out of these clothes soon, then she might catch a cold.

"Get your freakin' foot off me, you sadist!" Kon yelled indignantly, momentarily getting his face off the floor, only to be rebuffed with another boot . . . by Rukia.

"Be quiet or you might wake the twins," she said.

The plushie gave her an okay sign to signify that he got the message: Shut up or be tortured.

"Good." She took her foot off Kon's head, followed by Ichigo's, and headed straight for the exit of the shrine. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, right around the time when the three had gotten to their destination.

"Where are you going, Kuchiki-san?" Orihime asked.

She stopped momentarily, but didn't turn to face them. "Verifying a hunch," she said mysteriously. Without another word, she exited the shrine.

"Kurosaki-kun, do you—"

"I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about or where she's going. Frankly, I'd rather not know. The things she does are already complicated as they are."

"I don't think they're that complicated." Though what these 'things' Ichigo was referring to, Orihime hadn't a clue.

"Then you haven't seen the rest of her doodles. Over a century old and she still can't draw worth a darn."

"I think you just need to have an open mind to understand what the contents of those illustrations are, Kurosaki-kun. And I think Kuchiki-san draws like that because maybe someone she looks up to draws in a similar way."

Ichigo was silent for a while. "Inoue . . . I have a hard time picturing someone whom Rukia regards as an idol drawing bunnies and bears on each doodle, no matter what the topic is. If someone like that actually exists, then they're as crazy as Rukia."

"You think so?"

He nodded seriously. "Anyway, how'd you end up with that conclusion?"

Orihime opened her mouth to begin her explanation when a newcomer entered the shrine.

"Oh, so you're finally awake, Orihime-chan," Isshin Kurosaki said, smiling. He set down his backpack on the dry floor, taking special care not to drop it near the footsteps she and Ichigo had made. Orihime then vaguely wondered if Isshin had noticed an extra set of footprints on the floor, but since he didn't show any outward reaction, she put that thought away.

Almost forgetting her manners, Orihime bowed to the middle-aged man. "Good afternoon, Kurosaki-san."

"And a good afternoon to you, too. I hope you'll be able to teach my son more respect to his elders."

"I'll respect my elders the way I always do it," Ichigo said. "And, sadly, you're not even being considered in that group."

"And that's exactly how you lack the necessary training to become a real man, Ichigo." He pointed an accusing finger at him. "Our battles are numberless, but when it comes to the war, you have already lost."

"What war are you talking about, old man?"

"Kukuku. Nothing your feeble, little teenaged mind can possibly comprehend. It is the war to manhood, of course!"

Ichigo looked like he was at a loss for words, but only for a moment before he sighed out loud. "Whatever. I don't want to have any part of it."

"By the way, Orihime-chan, aren't you cold?"

Orihime inspected herself again. The opened door was letting in a mild wind and she involuntarily shivered as the air circulated around the drenched spots on her back. She fought back a sneeze that was urging her to let it out.

"Luckily, I came prepared," Isshin announced as he zipped open the backpack and pulled out two T-shirts.

"Why were you carrying extra clothes in your pack?" Ichigo asked, looking at his father in disbelief.

"Because, unlike you, I watch the news, and the weatherman predicted that there'll be rain a bit before noon. Why do you think I insisted in Yuzu letting me have her umbrella for today?"

"Normally, weathermen don't make presumptions as precise as that," Ichigo deadpanned. "Rather, it still doesn't explain why you'd bring extra clothes when you could've just brought some umbrellas."

"You mind too much about the minor details. They don't really matter anyway, Ichigo, so stop overthinking things. Now you two hurry and change your shirts before you get too cold." He handed them the clothes. His gaze was at Orihime last, and he grinned. "If you want, I'll help you change and—"

"Like hell you will!" Ichigo shouted, kicking his father in the face, which caused Isshin to skid through the floor and out of the shrine, banging his head onto the door strongly as he did. "You can change your clothes in here," Ichigo said to her. "I'll keep the old pervert company outside."

Without having a word to say to him, Orihime let him walk out of the shrine and close the door behind him. It had gone darker inside when the door blocked out the sun that had shone through its opening. She glanced at the twins, who were also wet but fast asleep, and began to strip off her top. While silently wishing that there was a towel somewhere nearby for her to dry her hair up, she did her best to fold her red, flower-silhouetted T-shirt. The T-shirt that Isshin had supplied her with was simply a plain white one with a small red heart printed on the left chest where bold letters were written below it—**IT ONLY BEATS FOR YOU**. Orihime wasn't sure if this shirt could be considered unisex or something that few men would have the gall to wear.

Before putting the white shirt on, she debated with herself if she should remove the last piece of clothing that covered the top portion of her body as well. There were a few problems she might have to face whether she'd still wear her wet bra or not. For the problems in keeping it on, it would still make her front and back cold (though to a lesser degree) and Orihime was certain that it would wet the new shirt. However, if she decided to take it off, then people might notice. The white shirt had a thin fabric and she had no way to tell whether her nipples would appear as little bumps on her chest or not; it didn't help that they got erect from the cold. Then again, the only reason she was hesitant in going stark on the topside was because of Ichigo, and she knew very well what incident already occurred between them.

What was more embarrassing, letting him touch it or letting him see it, albeit indirectly?

Orihime's cheeks fumed in embarrassment, but a decision had to be made. Gathering her resolve, she unhooked her bra and let it fall onto her lap as she knelt on both knees, her toes planted on the floor, her ankles acting as a makeshift seat for her bottom. Taking a deep breath, then letting it out, she put on the **BEATS FOR YOU** shirt.

Though shameful this problem was, Orihime had to outweigh the pros over the cons because that was the only way for her to keep herself from catching a cold. She even started thinking that maybe Ichigo and Isshin won't notice the lack of an undershirt. But it was quickly scratched when someone knocked on the door, asking for permission to enter, to which Orihime allowed without thinking, and saw her kneeling on the floor wearing the new shirt but holding a red lace bra in her hands.

Ichigo flushed in embarrassment and quickly closed the door. "Sorry!" he cried from outside.

Orihime couldn't stop the blush from reddening more profoundly in her cheeks. Her being an airheaded might have caused her trouble a few times, but she never had to berate herself because of it before. Well, there was a first time for everything.

Not really knowing where she could put the 34C-sized bra where the men's eyes won't see, Orihime slid it inside the fold of her wet shirt.

Apart from that particular predicament, her butt felt like it was being drenched in water, and there was nothing she could do about her wet panties at all. Isshin was not likely to bring additional clothing other than the shirts.

But then a thought came to her: _Is this shirt Kurosaki-kun's or Kurosaki-san's?_

"Is it okay to come in now?" Ichigo asked, breaking Orihime out of her thoughts.

"Yes," she answered.

"For real this time?"

She nodded, but then realizing that he couldn't see it due to the closed door, she shouted an affirmative.

"Okay, I'm coming in."

Ichigo entered, wearing a sky blue shirt with white tribal markings on the chest and left shoulder. The colors clashed with his hair, but he didn't really have a choice, did he? He still had his scowl, but Orihime thought it was pretty cute for _the_ Ichigo Kurosaki to have such red cheeks along with that facial expression. It made Orihime think of a very angry cartoon character with steam whistling out of both ears, but they both knew the real reason why he looked so flustered. And she couldn't stop the giggle from coming out of her mouth.

"What's so funny?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She shook her head, and told him the reason honestly.

"I'm not angry," he said.

"I know. That's what makes it funny."

At that time, Isshin reentered the shrine as well. "How's the shirt Orihime-chan? Does it fit?"

Orihime nodded. "It fits." Though she had to keep her arms in an X formation. She felt very self-conscious about being braless in the same room with Ichigo and Isshin.

Isshin acknowledged her claim and began looking for something else inside his backpack. If Isshin had actually noticed the awkward positions of her arms and the way Ichigo tried to not look directly at her, his blush still present, then he didn't comment on it. But Orihime couldn't help but notice the sly grin on the middle-aged man's face.

"So, what brings you here, Orihime-chan?" he asked casually as he pulled out a bento box and a large thermos.

"Visiting my family," she answered right away. She had planned this out beforehand just in case she'd encounter not just Ichigo. Plus, it wasn't a total lie. She was planning on visiting a particular gravesite after all this, anyway.

"I see. How long has it been . . . twelve or thirteen years?"

"Their thirteenth anniversary won't be until October." Try as she might, she couldn't keep her voice straight. It had been quite long since she had talked about them with someone.

Isshin paused from getting two cups out of the pack. He probably noticed the sadness laden in her reply. "Sorry if I said too much, Orihime-chan."

"No, I'm okay."

"If you're sure." He set down the two cups and poured the liquid in the thermos into each. "Here. Something to warm you guys up."

The two teens accepted the offered cups and slowly drank the warm drink. Tamaryokucha (A type of green tea). Sora's favorite. Whenever he would have a cup of it, Orihime would sometimes ask him if she could take a sip of it. It was sweet and bitter at the same time (due to some additives he also put), but she definitely understood the calming effect Sora mentioned it had. And the taste of the cup of tea in her hands was as sweet and bitter as when she first tasted it back when she was six. It was like glimpsing into the past through her sense of taste.

"Ichigo," Isshin called, handing his son the bento.

"Lunch?" he asked.

Just the mere mention of the word caused one particular person's stomach to growl. The sound echoed through the circular walls of the shrine's interior, like it was the growl of many feral creatures hiding in the shadows.

Orihime blushed deeply.

Isshin grinned. "Haven't had lunch yet, Orihime-chan?"

Orihime looked to the floor while shaking her head. She almost instinctively covered her stomach with her hands to try and suppress the growls, but it was too late and actually doing that action would make her chest 'vulnerable.'

Isshin laughed good-naturedly. "Well, then you can share with Ichigo's. It's the last one."

Ichigo handed her the bento. "You can have it."

"But—" Orihime's reply was cut off by her stomach's second round of growling. The rest of her words died in her mouth, drowned by the sheer amount of embarrassment she was feeling. She didn't know if she could look at Ichigo directly anymore.

"I'm not feeling hungry right now." He didn't comment anything else. He just kept his arm stretched for her to grab the bento out of his hand, and seemed like he would stay that way until she took the box.

Resigning from her protest, she took the box from him, opened it, and ate its contents. Isshin went towards the twins, checking up on them; they were still taking their naps. From the shadows, Kon hid from plain view.

"I can't believe Nee-san left me here," he silently complained at Ichigo, who was sitting at a spot near where the Mod Soul was hiding. He then murmured, "Though I should thank her for leaving me, too . . ." The rest was too quiet for her to hear, but Ichigo reacted in a violent way at the plushie and started choking Kon to death. Instead of death, however, his pill just ejected out of the doll.

_I wonder what Kon-kun said that made Ichigo mad?_

Orihime wanted to ask him, but he seemed to be evading it, as if he didn't really want to answer that particular question at all. In the end, she let him keep his mouth shut. Orihime figured it must be a guys-only thing.

A familiar ring tone reached her ears, and vibrations coming from her right pocket. It was her cell phone, and she had an incoming call.

_It must be Tatsuki-chan_, she thought. Taking the phone into her hand, her eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. She had always been a klutz when it concerned technology, which was why she hadn't had a cell phone until recently when Tatsuki insisted she should have one. Tatsuki had taught her the basics in using her flip-phone, but the explanations were just too technical for her mind to comprehend. Orihime had only nodded in pseudo-understanding, and Tatsuki went on with the other features. Orihime had been so confused that the matter concerning her lying skills were temporarily null, so Tatsuki hadn't noticed her unintentional lie. Now here was the predicament she had put herself into: She didn't know how to answer the call.

"Kurosaki-kun," she called, hoping that he knew how to work this candy bar-sized thing. "It's Tatsuki-chan calling. You should pick it up."

"Why? Isn't she calling you?"

"Well . . . I . . . don't know how to answer the call."

He sighed through his nose. "Here. Let me talk to her."

She handed him the phone. He and Tatsuki conversed for a while, though Orihime could only hear Ichigo's replies and not Tatsuki's. They both said their goodbyes and he hung up the phone.

"Tatsuki said she was worried when you weren't replying her emails."

"Emails?" The word confused her.

"Inoue, do you even know what an email is?"

She shook her head.

Ichigo sighed, through his mouth this time, and began explaining to her the mechanics of how to use a cell phone. It was still difficult for her to grasp the concept, but at least she had a much better understanding of using a phone than when Tatsuki explained it. Maybe it was because of Ichigo. She didn't know; she was not sure. And though she would still have a long way to go before she could start to write her own emails, she was happy enough to see that Ichigo was patient in teaching her.

The twins didn't wake for another fifteen minutes. But when they finally did, Isshin announced that it was time for them to go back home . . . right after they changed their clothes, in which he suggested them letting him do the changing for them.

Ichigo and Karin clobbered their perverted father to unconsciousness.

* * *

_**1:17**_

Ichigo stood on the steps outside of the shrine as the sun shone brightly. It was like it hadn't rain almost an hour ago; there were no dark clouds in sight. But the wet pavement and the dewed leaves of the trees were pretty much the indicators of what transpired during the morning.

It was a good thing that the twins didn't make such a fuss about what happened to them earlier. Rukia had the kikanshinki with her, so Ichigo was left with nothing to remove their memories. But thankfully, two things had happened at the correct moment that the two girls will soon forget all about their 'supposed' experience. Apparently, due to some unknown factor Yuzu had forgotten all about the encounter with Grand Fisher. And according to Kon, Karin had woken up before Ichigo and the others arrived at the shrine. He had insisted that her encounter with the Hollow was only a nightmare, but she didn't believe him then. When she went back to sleep and woke up at the same time as Yuzu later, she immediately questioned her about whether or not she remembered being attacked by some invisible monster, in which Yuzu responded with a bewildered look. Karin didn't need any more convincing that it all must have been a dream. But it was definitely a close call for them all.

The figures of his family were at the distance, already set in going home while he stayed in the cemetery to escort Orihime home. His father insisted he should. It turned out that Kon had to lie on the fly when he came to the shrine with Isshin waiting inside, so he told the guy that Orihime had fainted from the heat. The bad thing about that lie was that Isshin was a licensed doctor, so he would have taken the mention of 'fainting because of the heat' seriously, and risk the discovery of Orihime's 'lifeless' state. It had been harder, according to Kon, to convince the doctor that it wasn't a serious problem. Ichigo should be thanking him for the save, but the plushie seemed to have found his own way of payment for all the trouble he'd been through.

When the perverted Mod Soul told him that he had hidden from the rest when Isshin entered, Ichigo realized that he had also been there when Orihime changed. And if what his eyes had witnessed when he reentered the shrine was correct, that meant the bastard saw her without her bra. He would've killed Kon right then and there, but the mention of him not getting a good look due to the darkness diminished it a little. But that only saved the Mod Soul from death. It didn't, however, save him from being beaten within an inch of his life. And to add more torture for the poor guy, Ichigo had let _Yuzu_ keep the plushie after he shoved the pill back into it. Yuzu was happy with her lost-but-now-found dress-up lion doll even if it was a little drenched. Kon looked at him with pleading eyes, mouthing out, "Don't let her take me!"

Ichigo had smirked, looking quite satisfied. He had even given Kon the finger when no one else was looking.

His thoughts went back to Orihime as they descended the steps and went in a different direction than the Kurosakis. When his father had proposed he should escort Orihime back because he was worried that she might have another fainting spell while on her way home, Ichigo had expected her to say that she was fine on her own and that the incident was just a one-time thing. He didn't mind escorting her back at all, but it would usually take a while for someone to convince Orihime that she actually needed the help; she absolutely abhorred being considered a burden from what he remembered Tatsuki had said during their junior high days. And he was surprised to hear no argument from her except for one mere question: "Is Kurosaki-kun okay with it?"

So here he was, side-by-side with a girl of his age, helping her get back home. But there were more pressing matters inside Ichigo's head for him to be distracted by a high school boy's fantasies. When they were far enough from the shrine, he abruptly stopped, followed by Orihime, who was looking down at the ground while hugging the red shirt on her chest. Probably shy about going braless that the thin fabric of his father's shirt was showing more than was appropriate. Ichigo did the best he could to not get on that train of thought. He had to be serious about this for now.

"Did you need me for something?" he asked her straightly. Beating around the bush wouldn't get him anywhere at this point.

She nodded. "I don't think I can . . . face them alone."

"Who?"

"You'll see." With that, she continued walking down the paved path. A few moments later, Ichigo followed her.

It didn't take more than five minutes to arrive at another area set with rows upon rows of gravestones, these ones looking a little older than from the graves he'd seen near his mother's. He saw Orihime come to a halt at a particular set of graves huddled together as if it was for a family, and knelt down to her knees; she placed the wet shirt on her lap.

"I came to visit," she said to the gravestones, "Onii-chan, Mama, Papa."

A lump formed in Ichigo's throat.

There were three gravestones situated in one row. Each one had a name engraved onto the stone, and Ichigo noticed that all three had 'Inoue' as their last name and were written in the traditional downward format, _Tategaki_. The one on the left had 'Sora Inoue' engraved, meaning that this was the gravestone of Orihime's brother. The one in the middle had 'Arisa Inoue,' and the one on the right had 'Akagi Inoue.' These were Orihime's parents.

A faint memory tugged at his head, forcing him to try and think back to that moment in time. He was certain it was about Orihime, something about what she said to him, but what could it possibly—

"_**You're wrong . . . I really do understand what you're going through. I honestly do."**_

His gaze shot back at Orihime, who was having casual talk with three small column-like stones. He didn't see the point in conversing with open air, since their souls had already passed on to Soul Society, but in some part of him, he did see it. It was faith. And faith cemented both of their beliefs that their message will somehow reach that person to whom they were trying to talk to.

"The person behind me is one of my classmates in school. His name is Ichigo Kurosaki. He may look intimidating and mean, but that's only skin-deep. He's actually quite smart, loyal, and strong. And don't worry, Papa, that's his natural hair color. Just like mine."

Though she had smiled at him when she introduced him to them, Ichigo clearly saw that it was a ghost of a smile. Sadness was in her tone and regret was in her stance. People would normally look at the graves when they converse with it, but Orihime was staring at the pavement before the stones without fail. It was as if she was ashamed to even look at their graves. Or hesitant to face the truth that was right before her eyes.

When Orihime became silent after a few more minutes of talking about things under the sun, Ichigo walked closer to the girl and knelt beside her. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" he asked evenly. Truthfully, he had no idea how to react at this piece of news. He had thought it was weird that Orihime told Isshin that she came here to visit her family's grave; the only family of Orihime he had ever known was her brother, and that was only because he had died in their clinic.

Orihime hummed an affirmative, still looking at the ground. "I haven't visited them since Onii-chan died. Onii-chan had always been the anchor of my emotions whenever we would come and visit Mama and Papa."

"And so you turn to me for emotional support?"

She shook her head. "You're different from Onii-chan, Kurosaki-kun. Whenever I am with you . . . I feel more at ease with myself than ever, like everything will be all right in the world no matter how much sadness floods it. And there's another reason why I wanted you to be here."

Orihime had much more things to say to him. Ichigo could tell. But the depth of it must be overwhelming her emotions, secrets that ran deeper than any physical wound that had ever grazed her skin. With patience, he waited for her to start.

"To start off," she said, finally facing up to look at the two gravestones on the right side, "Mama and Papa died when I was only three."

Ichigo was silent.

"I have only the vaguest memories of them, but Onii-chan had at least told me that they loved me very much. He said that they sacrificed their lives to save mine." Her hands were shaking. "On the day they died, October thirteen, everything came unexpectedly. It was at night, and Onii-chan had gone out with his friends for a party, so it was only the three of us.

"The most I can remember of that day was me playing with my teddy bear, while Papa read a novel and Mama fixed a small tear on her favorite blouse. We were all in the living room at the time. Mama rose from the couch to answer a knock at the door. I must have been curious who could be visiting our home at night—most of my parents' visitors come by during the afternoon—so I went with her. I was not really listening to Mama's conversation with a man at the other side of the door. They were raising their voices, and the soft knocks quickly turned to violent poundings.

"That person shouted and pounded at the door, and I didn't know this much back then, but if that man were to keep on ramming the door like that, it would fly off its hinges. Mama went to call the police, but before reaching for the phone, she told me to go to my room. I just followed her orders; I was near tears when the shouts began to relentlessly ring in my young ears. Words that I shouldn't have learned then were known up till this day. He called my mother a whore and a squealer.

"Papa heard the disturbance and he seconded Mama's orders of my going to my room. The four walls of the room that I shared with my brother did little to mull down their yells and curses. I had felt afraid; not for myself, but for Mama and Papa. I just had this feeling in my gut that whoever was on the other side of the entrance was someone like the devil, and there were sadly no angels to protect them from him."

Tears flowed down her cheeks, and Ichigo put a hand on her shoulder. He felt her shiver at the contact. "Will you be okay?" he asked gently, hoping that the girl won't look away and shut herself from him, but he didn't get any response from her. He somehow knew that the night they died ended in a tragedy that left Orihime with bitter memories, but she was telling him this for a reason. Closure to the truth, perhaps, or maybe someone that can understand what she had gone through? And in that moment, Ichigo remembered his earlier conversation with Orihime, the one before he had encountered Grand Fisher.

Orihime really did understand what he was going through because she was the same way as him. Probably felt more grief than him.

A few moments later, Orihime gathered her wits to continue from where she left off. He could not force her to tell him; she needed to go through it at her own pace. His hand never left her shoulder, and she didn't stop shivering. Ichigo was having second thoughts whether he should put his hand away from her, but if Orihime didn't like having his hand on her shoulder then she would've said so already. He took her silence as an indicator that she was shivering in anxiety for a different reason than his touch.

"I heard Mama scream at the entrance. I didn't think anything else but the scream. Mama never screamed like that, so I immediately got worried. If I only knew that going back to that room was not only a bad idea, but the reason why she was killed, then things would have turned out differently. I don't know." She took a deep, shaky intake of breath and let it all out in a slow and deflating way. "The only thing I clearly remember after that was the knife in that man's hand, covered in Papa's blood; Papa was lying on the floor, his . . . his . . ." Orihime muffled a sob, wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered more strongly than before.

Ichigo didn't know what came over him, but seeing her so vulnerable and in desperate need for support, his arm instinctively coiled itself over her shoulders. She didn't shrug it away, but rather she welcomed it. He wasn't sure if Orihime was consciously aware of his arm over her shoulders, but she needed the comfort more than ever. He pulled her closer to his chest, and said, "It's okay," over and over, rocking her back and forth to let her relax.

"You don't need to tell me, Inoue," he whispered to her. "Don't force yourself to."

She shook her head as she buried it deeper into his chest. Her hands shifted away from her shoulders and onto Ichigo's hand, grasping it tight as if she didn't want him to ever let her go. "No," she said, "I have to. I need to. I—I have to stop running away from this. They're dead. All of them are. Mama. Papa. Onii-chan. Even my biological parents."

_Biological parents?_ He was confused for a moment, but then the possibility of her being adopted came to him. Orihime had mentioned this to him before, but he never really thought much about its possibility of being true. But if that were true, then what Rukia speculated might be more correct than ever. But even with questions answered, it only left him with more new questions. One of them was quite prominent: If Orihime is a descendant of a shinigami, then how come she's alive?

The mysteries just piled up, and Ichigo couldn't figure all of them out. It was frustrating, to say the least, but there was still some progress. He was sure that maybe in due time they would find all the answers they sought and the shadows of whatever history that surrounds Orihime will finally shine in the light. He just hoped that nothing bad would befall upon them before everything was over.

And that was another question he needed an answer to: _When_ will everything be over?

Derailing from his thoughts, he made it back in time to listen to Orihime continuing where she let off.

"Papa's right eye was missing. In its place was a red hole. His mouth was wide open like he was screaming in silence. There was just so much blood _everywhere_. The man rushed towards my mother, and when she saw me, she began to panic, telling me to go back to my room and lock my door. But I was rooted to the floor, holding onto my teddy bear like a desperate person clutching the last remaining pieces of her sanity. Back then, I didn't fully understand death and murder. But I still saw the fear in Mama's eyes and the glazed undamaged eye of Papa's. I didn't know what to do.

"Everything became black after that. When I came to, sirens were ringing in my ears. The police were already on their way. I felt wet and cold, and my wrists were stinging. I opened my eyes and saw Mama, sleeping . . . or so I first thought. I called out to her many times, but she didn't move or open her eyes. It was when I realized that my wrists were stinging because of the ropes wrapped around it. It was also when I realized that Mama had so much blood on her neck . . . a—and the deep gash."

She snuggled her face to his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears. He didn't mind in the slightest. Her left hand changed places, seeking refuge onto his back, which positioned her whole arm in a one-armed hug on him. He could feel her shiver more than ever; the sobs were almost nonexistent, not by sound but by movement. Ichigo was worried that she might be having a seizure.

"The killer was never found. My memory was so jumbled that I could not even remember his face at all. Their souls would've been able to communicate with me back then, but like Onii-chan, I cannot find them after their deaths. A few days later, Arisa and Akagi Inoue were laid to rest here. Year after year, Onii-chan and I would come here and pay our respects. He always said that Mama had saved me from being killed, but he never told me how. I had confessed to him that I felt afraid of coming here, that it was not because of horrible flashbacks or grief. I was afraid because I just was. I couldn't explain it to him at all. So when he died . . . I stopped visiting. Onii-chan was my anchor, the one who can keep me at ease even with the spiraling emotions invading every ounce of my being. I tried many times, but whenever I came close to this place, I hyperventilate and convulse. It was too much for me to bear."

Ichigo wiped away her tears and tightened their hug with each other. He wasn't sure if it helped, but he at least noticed that her shivers toned down tremendously from his actions alone.

"But because you're here I can visit them again."

"Inoue . . ."

"So you see, Kurosaki-kun, I do understand what you're going through. I go through it every year. I wanted to visit them and pay my respects, pray for them, but . . ." She shook her head. "I don't know _why_ I can't. Is this grief or guilt I'm feeling? Is there a subconscious reason as to why my body is reacting violently to this place that I need someone like you or my brother to give me courage, no matter how tiny it is compared to the ache in my heart? Do you know, Kurosaki-kun?"

He said nothing.

"Please tell me if you know something."

". . . I've always blamed myself," he whispered. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to say everything outright. Orihime had revealed this much to him; it was only fair that he did the same. "Thinking that things could have gone differently if I hadn't tried to save a ghost."

Orihime peeled her face off his chest, revealing to him her unreadable eyes, which were slightly red from her crying. She didn't say anything. She only stared right into his eyes. It was okay for him, though. Her eyes weren't chocolate brown, but they were still entrancing to him. The difference was that he wasn't being sucked into them forcefully until he lost every trace of his control over his mentality. Those gray eyes of hers were calming him in a way, as if the world would end right here and now and he wouldn't really mind as long as he'd keep staring into those misty depths.

"My mother died because I was foolish. It was me who was supposed to drown on that canal that day, but she sacrificed her own life to save mine. And it was all because I wanted to save someone who was already dead."

"You saw a ghost?" she asked, her voice soft and empathic.

He nodded. "Back then, I didn't know the difference between the dead and the living yet, so I thought that it was just a young girl ready to jump to her death. I acted on instinct. All I thought about was saving that girl from jumping. The thought of what might happen to my mother never crossed my mind.

"And after her death, I keep asking myself, 'Why? I'm the reason why she died, so why isn't anyone blaming me?'" His vision blurred for a moment. He blinked rapidly and it returned to normal. "My family was never the same after Mom's death. We all had to grow up, in a sense; try to go on without her. We all faced our own trials, and everyone got through it . . . except me."

He felt her squeeze his hand, and he vaguely wondered if the roles had now reversed.

"While everyone in my family moved forward, I stayed behind, still grieving. I didn't think that I _can_ move forward. There was just no way for me to forgive myself. Everything had been perfect before that day. We were all happy. But I was the one who took away that happiness, and day by day I still wonder why nobody had put the blame on me. It was my fault she died! It was my fault!"

"No, it wasn't!" she exclaimed.

Ichigo almost said _You don't understand_, but then realized that Orihime _should_ understand him. So why was she saying that it wasn't his fault? Was she just trying to make him feel better? Try and put the blame on someone else?

"Your family doesn't blame you," she said, "I don't blame you, and I am certain that your mother doesn't blame you. I'm sure she had no regrets in saving your life, Kurosaki-kun. She loved you that much."

Ichigo bowed his head low, his eyes closed. His eyes were stinging, but he wasn't sure why they were.

"My brother said that nothing in this world could best a mother's love. If I were given a choice between my own life and that of my child, I would gladly give mine up. It's normal for all of us to grieve the death of our mother, but please, Kurosaki-kun, don't pin the entire burden on yourself."

With a shaky breath, Ichigo asked, "How do you cope with it, knowing that you played some part in her death?"

"I had blamed myself, too, because if I hadn't gone out of my room, then maybe—just maybe—my mother wouldn't have died. But Onii-chan told me otherwise. He told me that there was really no one to blame, and that I should just remember that Mama did the best she could to keep me from harm."

"I don't know if I can forgive myself, Inoue. I just don't know." He saw something wet hit the pavement. Was it raining again? He checked the sky, but only saw few clouds that were as white as cotton. He checked his face with his hand and found his right cheek wet. It was a lone tear.

"Then we'll take it slowly. You've helped me so much today, Kurosaki-kun. Without you here I would not have been able to visit my parents again. You've helped me overcome my fears and grief, so the only way that I can repay you for this is to help you overcome yours."

"Inoue . . ."

"We'll get through this together, Kurosaki-kun." She tightened her hug, and he basked in her warmth. It seemed he needed this. "I won't leave you alone."

Ichigo only nodded, hoping that his emotions wouldn't get the best of him. That lone tear was enough of a sign that he was letting them out of control. This may be a time of grief, but there was no more need to cry. He had Orihime for help, and he now had faith that his mom was watching over them, probably smiling that he was ready to take that necessary step forward.

But he was also afraid. He was afraid that if he were to take each step towards the place of acceptance, he would start to forget all about Masaki. His memories of her were the only things left he had of her. He didn't want to lose them. But looking into Orihime's understanding gray eyes, his fear dissipated in an instant. Whatever the future would bring him, he would have to face it inevitably. And at least he won't have to walk this road alone; he finally understood now. He still had his dad, his sisters, his friends—Tatsuki, Chad, Keigo, Mizuiro, Orihime. They were still with him here in this world.

His grief may be strong, but his commitment with each of them, the connection they created for each other, was stronger. He and Orihime both had the feeling that this will not be an easy road, but it was the only way for them to move forward. The past was now in the past, and the ghosts of their depression quivered as they promised each other this:

There may be tough trials ahead, but they will never back down. They will see it all through to the end.

* * *

Rukia was soaked. Completely and utterly soaked, but she didn't care. There were matters of the utmost importance she had to do, and worrying about the health of her gigai was the least on her mind. She stood in front of the Urahara Shop, listing all the questions she would need to ask the enigmatic salesman. She had kept her cell phone dry and live inside her pocket, making sure to cover it with her thick handkerchief, which was thankfully unaffected by the rain earlier today. Now she brought it out and already set it in the picture gallery. Everything was set. The only thing left to do was take that final step.

"Urahara!" she called. The place was devoid of any people in the front, but she knew for a fact that the blond wouldn't leave this place unchecked without a good reason. "I know you're in here."

She heard a very audible yawn from the back of the store, so audible that she was certain that it was a fake yawn Urahara deliberately did for an added effect for his entrance. How annoying.

"Who is it?" Urahara asked, wiping the sleep off his eyes. When those same eyes met the form of a wet and scowling Rukia Kuchiki, he looked nervous. "Why Kuchiki-san! Is there something you need?"

"Quite so, Urahara. I have questions that need answers, and it seems only you have them."

Urahara looked confused. "Why me?"

"Because it somehow concerns the discussion we had prior to this."

His eyes widened immensely, then narrowed down as he scrutinized her. "What are you saying?"

Rukia zoomed in on one of the images of the black-masked Hollow on the screen of her cell phone and showed it to him. "Mind telling me what this _altered_ Hollow is doing in the cemetery around noon today?"

He took the phone from her hands and examined the picture. His eyes were still narrowed—an expression Rukia rarely saw from the shopkeeper—and she could see that they move with quick bursts, as if he intended to memorize every bit of detail in that one little picture. She heard a BEEP from the phone. Urahara must've moved to another picture. That wasn't a cause for alarm, but what he said next was.

"Brown eyes," he murmured.

Rukia flinched, but thankfully he didn't notice. Or he might have noticed from his peripheral vision, but decided not to comment on it—yet.

"From what I remembered back then, I was certain Miss Inoue had gray eyes."

"She does," Rukia admitted, seeing that there was no point in hiding the truth anymore. Though she had told the shopkeeper that Orihime was the target of her 'descendant of a shinigami' theory, what she didn't tell him about was the girl's alter-ego. She knew it was unwise to do so, for Urahara might have some answers to Orihime's bipolarity, and that's an emphasis on _might_ because she really wasn't sure whether Urahara could take this as seriously as she was. The matter was that this secret research didn't concern him at all, and she was only using him for reference and additional information. The thought of a shinigami having an alter-ego would intrigue him, sure enough, but Rukia didn't want to trust him with this bit of info. But now that the secret was inevitably out, might as well go full out but keep some more private matters to herself. Rukia almost blushed when the image of Orihime's alter-ego making Ichigo 'feel her up' (if her modern vocabulary was to be correct) flashed in her mind.

"Is this her evil twin sister?" he asked innocently, though Rukia was certain that the guy was not taking this seriously and joking around instead.

Trying to keep her patience as strong and impenetrable as possible lest she'd snap and shout at Urahara to give her proper answers, she sighed and shook her head. "That's really Inoue-san."

She then explained to Urahara the existence of Orihime's alter-ego, Emi.

"Emi . . ." he murmured, then examined the picture on the phone's screen again. His eyes were no longer narrow, but his facial expression showed him pondering something deeply, as if the answers he was seeking lay inside the confines of his old memories. "Hmm . . . an evil persona of sorts. That _is_ a pretty fitting term for it."

"Enough digressing, Urahara. I need answers and it does not involve Inoue-san or this Emi person. Now what do you know about that black-masked Hollow?"

His expression turned grim as his gaze lingered on the picture awhile. "This Hollow has been altered artificially by someone," he said simply, devoid of emotion, monotonous in every aspect.

"Who?" Rukia questioned.

"I only know of the process of this alteration. The culprit of this act is unknown to even me, even if I _do_ have my suspicions on a particular someone."

"And who is this 'someone,' Urahara?" She crossed her arms, found that it was uncomfortable due to how wet she still was, and dropped back to her sides. "That person may or may not be involved in this. That person is already a danger to Soul Society and must be brought to justice."

"If only it were that easy, Kuchiki-san. He is a much respected man by all the people. He manipulates Soul Society like it was in the palm of his hand. It's all there for his taking, and without anyone to interfere. I doubt that people would believe me with such scarce evidence. They sure didn't believe me back then."

"Okay, so our evidence is minimal. But if I were to continue my investigation, then I might find enough to break a fair amount of disbelief from them all."

Urahara shook his head. "That's an ill decision, Kuchiki-san. You'll only get yourself killed."

"I don't die that easily," she replied defiantly.

"Then they will torture you slowly," he answered back, shocking her somewhat. "These creatures have something that resembles the caste system of long ago. To them, the stronger and completer they are, the higher they rank in their little society. What you encountered is classified as the 'bottom' race. Clearly the weakest of the weak. I take it that young Kurosaki-kun had trouble fighting this kind of Hollow?"

"No, he never engaged combat with it. Only Emi did." Rukia wanted to ask him about what he meant about 'completer,' but decided to leave that for later.

"I see. She's quite strong."

"Well, I don't care what you say, Urahara. I'll be continuing my investigations from here on out. This creature is no doubt a threat to not only the Material World but also Soul Society, and if I'm mistaken from what I heard you say, then there are more of these creatures. It is in my duty as a shinigami to not withhold this information to my superiors, therefore nothing you say to persuade me otherwise will work."

He looked grave, but conceded to her determination. "Very well. I'll tell you all that I know about these Hollows, but is it okay if I ask you first about Emi? I want to clarify one last thing."

Rukia hesitated, but nodded in the end.

"Did you find anything peculiar other than the whole eye-color change?"

She thought about it deeply. "The only other strange thing I've seen was her regenerative abilities."

"Elaborate," he requested.

"Inoue-san—or rather, Emi—sustained two scratches during her fight with the altered Hollow. It formed an X on her left forearm. But after the battle, I noticed that it slowly healed until no mark was left. There was no scar to indicate that she had been injured."

He nodded, looking satisfied. "Another mystery solved. Oh boy." He shook his head in amusement.

"Pray tell what this solved mystery is, Urahara."

"It does not concern the topic about the Hollow, and like you I am making my own investigations—though research may be a more appropriate word for it. Anyway, why don't we start with our discussion about the Hollow?"

She nodded, and entered the back of the shop when Urahara motioned for her to do so. Though she was a little disturbed on what his research would entail and what it has to do with Orihime's alter-ego, she needed to take priority on learning more about this new threat. When she sat down on the floor next to the table, Urahara handed her a towel, and she used it to at least dry some parts of her faux body. Maybe it would be more comfortable if she were to revert to her spirit form, but decided against it.

"Where are your employees?" Rukia asked, realizing that it was only her and Urahara, since he was also making tea by himself. Usually it'd be Tessai or Ururu doing that chore.

"Fixing some minor bugs at our little playground in the basement," he answered. "Nothing to worry about." He sat down on the spot opposite her. The round low-end table was the only thing that divided them from each other. "Do you have any preference as to where I should start?"

"The name," she answered immediately. "I'm sure that these creatures have a name."

"Indeed they do. Each race has their own name, but all of them except the 'nobles,' for lack of a better term, were given a general name. The creature that you encountered was one of those weak races. And they are known simply as the Lückenhaft."

* * *

Kisuke Urahara sighed heavily a minute or two after Rukia Kuchiki left the shop. Throughout his explanation of the Lückenhaft threat, he was on-guard about certain information that must not be revealed to her. What he told her were already dark secrets that no one but the worthy—or foolish—must know about, so there was no need for deep elaborations on some parts. He had a large amount of knowledge concerning those black-masked Hollows, and it was all because of his questionable researches. And from what he learned during those years was that the Lückenhaft strive to being in the shadows, literally and figuratively. Not only do those low-class Lückenhaft shroud themselves inside a cloak of shadows, the whole society of the Lückenhaft likes to have their existence secret. Anyone with actual knowledge of their existence, they terminate with deadly force. He was surprised he had gone on for this long without any of those black-masked Hollows coming after him for knowing too much about them.

Urahara would have felt like he was taking Rukia straight into the chopping block if he had told her everything in more detail. But her life was already in danger no matter how much he'd try to hide things from her. He just figured it would be easier if she were to know what she was up against rather than charge in without knowing her enemy thoroughly. Hopefully, she wouldn't get herself into a situation that will most likely get herself killed. It would be very troublesome if she did.

But then his thoughts changed rails, as his mind was flooded with memories of the past. He once had a friend with an 'evil persona' like Orihime Inoue. He has his speculations over a few things, but the mystery was completely solved when Urahara had met the girl for the first time during the whole Mod Soul fiasco.

She had the same color and shade of gray eyes as her father.

"Who knew you had it in you, Spaceman," he murmured, using the old nickname he gave that person back when they were shinigami in Soul Society. Spaceman used to call him Buckethead in retaliation. The latter nickname was coined because of a particular embarrassing incident involving Urahara, Yoruichi, and a box of kitty litter. He had avoided Yoruichi for a week after that incident. And he really didn't want to remember that incident at all.

"Manager, is everything all right up here?" It was Tessai. He was halfway out of the entrance to the basement. "I've heard you talking to someone in the back for a while. I didn't want to disturb you, so I didn't make my presence known."

"It was just Kuchiki-san," Urahara said, fanning himself with his fan, looking a little more relaxed than he was before. "She came to ask me questions of something she wanted to investigate."

"The Lückenhaft threat?"

Urahara nodded gravely, though he made a mental note to have a talk with Tessai for eavesdropping on private conversations. "But we shouldn't worry that much. If I'm not mistaken, then the daughter will surely follow the footsteps of her father."

"A daughter? I never knew that your old friend had any children."

"He actually had two, though he said that he only knew his eldest child for only three years until the day he died. At least that's from what I remember him saying to me about his life before becoming a shinigami. Do you think I'm starting to go senile, Tessai?"

"Probably."

". . . I was hoping for some comforting words, not a harsh one."

"I was only being truthful of my opinion, Manager."

Urahara sighed and closed his fan. "If only we can be as truthful as you, Tessai. If only."

"Does she share it?"

He nodded. "At least now we know that it is hereditary. Orihime showed the same signs of having the 'evil persona' as her father. Though I'm sure that this inheritance of power is filtered through the combination of material and spiritual molecules that it somehow nullified most of the worst aspects of having the 'persona.' God knows how much trouble Spaceman's 'persona' had been to him."

"Maybe, but that's only speculation."

"Indeed, my friend." He closed his eyes. "But let's just hope that it's correct. I might not be strong enough to defeat her without killing her outright. And that's the _last_ thing I want to happen."

Outside, it began to rain again.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I ran into some trouble about Orihime's cup size. Since I'm a guy, I have no way to tell what her size is, though I do admit that her slim figure kind of accentuates her bust. I researched bra measurements and concluded on some of my findings (I went so far as to measure my own underbust, embarrassing as it was). At least I learned something informative from this research—and it's not just my underbust, thank you very much. You know, in hindsight, there wasn't really a recommendation for me to state Orihime's cup size, but I guess that's just how my muse works. Once I let it go on a particular concept, she just gets too stubborn for me to argue with her and win it. She demanded it, I must deliver it. Does anybody have their own opinions (or speculations) as to what Orihime's actual cup size is?

The canon universe never really elaborated on who Orihime and Sora's parents were, only that Sora ran away with Orihime—when she was only three years old—to get away from their abusive tendencies. They lived together while their parents did not even bother taking them back. When Sora died, Orihime had to take care of herself alone, but at least she had help from some relatives, who gave her a monthly allowance to pay the rent and to buy food and stuff. In this universe, I wanted a change of pace to create a more desirable atmosphere and character development for Orihime. I also wanted a bit of closure concerning her adoptive parents, too.

Oh, and if anybody else is probably wondering. Lückenhaft is a German word. It means 'Incomplete,' from what I can gather.


	15. Secrets of the Cross

Date written: 09/09/09 – 18/09/09

Posted on FanFiction: 21/09/09

A/N: With the Midterms finally behind me (and hoping I don't have any red marks again . . .), I indulged myself in this chapter. The initial title for this chapter was _Helena_, which is like an extension of the 6-17 sub-arc. But I found what I had written flawed in so many ways that I scrapped it even when I saw that it was halfway done. I decided to forgo that part of the story and move on to the Four-eyed Archer's introduction. And for all you Ishida fans, that's not a derogatory term. I only coined that nickname because I find it odd that an _archer_, a person that's supposed to have _keen eyesight_, is wearing glasses. You don't see Robin Hood wearing square rimless glasses. But to be a little fair, I also have a nickname for another Bleach major character. Evil Superman. Can anyone guess who I'm referring to and why?

After a bit of fun with a 3D model customizer program a friend of mine shared with me, I realized something I haven't before. Did any of you ever notice that Orihime's hairstyle changed a bit after she awakened her Shun Shun Rika? The bangs on her forehead were prominent before, but as it goes on into the Soul Society arc, you will see that her bangs were lessened. It's either she had a haircut or the artists decided to shorten out the amounts of bangs to make it easier on them. She was only a minor character during the start, so she didn't have much "air time" you could say. Either way, I don't mind. It just gives me some kind of insight to the subtle changes the characters have gone through that we take for granted sometimes.

Now about that customizer . . . if you want to see the results of my half-assed work, the link is in my profile. I actually made three versions: (1) Orihime in her spring-summer seifuku, (2) Orihime in her fall-winter seifuku, and (3) Orihime in a nurse uniform. But for her sake, I only uploaded the first two. I don't want to raise a scandal (note the lame joke).

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 15 ---**

**Secrets of the Cross**

Two weeks had passed. During those mundane days, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, though if one were to be very observant of Ichigo Kurosaki and Orihime Inoue during school hours, they will notice that one of them often disappear for an hour or so with 1-3's transfer student, Rukia Kuchiki. Fortunately, none were the wiser to this bit of news and the three spirit-sensitive beings were able to keep their shinigami duties a secret.

After what happened at the cemetery on the seventeenth of June, Ichigo had reluctantly agreed to Orihime's request to help in shinigami duties. She didn't have to do any of these since it wasn't her concern, but the girl was quite dead-straight in telling Ichigo otherwise. She said she was worried that people might notice his less-than-subtle disappearances now that the amount of souls that needed to be sent to Soul Society had increased during the past week. It was a tiny marginal increase, but even that caused Ichigo to skip two periods a day. It would put a damp on his academics, so Orihime thought it was her duty to help Ichigo out because she had the power to. And Ichigo couldn't deny her logic. He was also finding it harder and harder for him to get angry at her.

Rukia showed no complaint over the additional roster. She seemed to take all of this without any visible conflict, as if she had expected that Ichigo will eventually let Orihime do what she wants . . . or she might have planned on letting Orihime join anyway. This annoyed him a little, but he had no proof that that was what the midget was thinking. Other than giving Orihime some additional information concerning Hollow purification and soul burials, Rukia went out of her way to teach her some basic level kidou spells.

When asked, Rukia's answer would be this: "Inoue has potential in the demon arts. Why, jealous?"

Ichigo was, a little. But after mentally listing the pros and cons of learning kidou, he found that it had no actual use in his battles. What he relied on was his blade and his wit. A powerhouse kind of swordsman, if you would put it frankly.

Orihime's training was limited to only learning how to control her reiryoku (_**tr.**_ Spiritual Power) and the healing kidou spell, so that whenever he or Orihime herself got injured during a Hollow fight, they wouldn't have to always rely on Rukia to heal their wounds. Rukia had refused to teach anything more to Orihime since most of the other kidou spells she knew of were to be known to _official_ shinigami only. Rules are rules. But Ichigo suspected that a different reason was holding her back.

Back to the present, Ichigo was currently walking through the gates of Karakura High School. On both of his flanks were Orihime and Rukia, left and right, respectively. The two girls were talking animatedly about whatever the heck they were talking about; for the moment, Ichigo didn't really want to tune into what they were discussing. He learned long ago that there was no stopping those two once their trivial conversations were out in full force. It would often take the presence of a Hollow to shut their mouths. His opinions rarely got into these talks, not that he was planning on adding any of his two cents into it. Doing that would probably do more harm than good. For his patience and sanity, anyway.

A few stares came their way, but Ichigo just walked on without batting an eye. He had gone used to the stares ever since elementary school when the other kids openly pointed and stared at his natural hair color. One of the adults had even pointed out that it was as bright and red as Carrot Top's, even though, in terms of color, they were quite different, according to Tatsuki. And Ichigo had no idea who this Carrot Top person was, so he hadn't a clue whether to take that adult's words as an insult or compliment. Tatsuki said that she'd show him who Carrot Top was when the guy appears on TV, but neither put much hope for that happening, so Ichigo gave up on finding out.

The sight of him would have been normal by now, yet some of the students were making a full-out staring contest right at him, and they were not even covering their tracks. Ichigo glared at a few of those who watched him pass by.

"Yo! Ichi—"

Clothesline to the neck. Victim spun vertically one whole 720 degrees before plummeting onto the ground in a painful-looking position. Hmm . . . maybe he had put too much force on the usual morning greeting ritual.

"Morning to you, too, Keigo," Ichigo greeted back before entering the classroom.

Keigo's reply was a quiet and throaty "Ouch."

Yep, a typical school day today.

. . . or not.

Ichigo just found out from Misato Ochi, one of their teachers, that their exam grades were given today. The board would be displayed on their floor, grading and ranking all the first years in the school.

He was a little worried about the state of his grades due to his extracurricular activities shortening his study time. At least he thought he did all right. Out of a mere afterthought, he looked towards Orihime's seat and saw her staring back at him. She smiled reassuringly at him, probably sensing his worry. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't smile back. Rather he resisted the urge to do just that. It was not like he wasn't grateful of Orihime's concern, but just seeing that smile of hers made his stomach twist all of a sudden. He looked away before it got worse.

* * *

"WHAAAT?! T—T—T—T—T—T—Twenty-third place!!!"

Orihime winced. Keigo had shouted next to her, and it was not a pleasant experience. Their class had just come to the board which showed the ranks of the Top 50 students, and no one was more shocked than Keigo when he saw Ichigo's name in the middle.

Ichigo, however, looked nonplussed. And Orihime knew why. If it wasn't for his shinigami duties then he might've done better in the exams. At least she started helping him with his duties a few days before they had to really cram for the exam week. Surprisingly, Orihime did less than she expected.

_**5 – Inoue Orihime**_

Being a shinigami and student at the same time can be quite stressful. She barely had enough for free time and relaxation anymore, but at least she was prepared for the examinations. Orihime only did a bit of cramming, hit the sack early, and prayed that she'd have a good score. Her prayers were granted, it seemed, but she still honestly believed that she could've done better.

Tatsuki and the rest of the girls in her class congratulated Orihime on her achievement, even going so far as to say that they would never have expected she'd get inside the Top 5 ranks. Well, that was at least expected since she had been coined as an airhead. And stereotypically, airheads don't finish with very high scores. Orihime and Tatsuki had already established with themselves since middle school that the former was no ordinary airhead, excluding the shinigami part, of course.

By the time Keigo and Mizuiro ran away after finding out that their Mexican _amigo_ was in the 11th rank, Ichigo took an interest on who held the top spot.

"Ishida . . . Uryuu? Who the heck is that?"

"It's Ishida-kun," Orihime said. "He's in our class." She then pointed on the left side of the board where beside the names of the students is the classroom they are in. And in bold, the number before Ishida's name was clearly **3**, the section number of Ichigo and Orihime's class.

Ichigo flinched at that statement, and more so when he saw the number, his face clearly written in an expression that shouted 'I never knew that! How could I have not known that?!'

"Leave it, Orihime," Tatsuki said. "The guy doesn't even know the names of half the class. I doubt that he'd know anything about Ishida."

"Is that true, Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime asked.

He nodded slowly.

"Then how about we reintroduce you to him?"

"I decline," he answered impassively.

"Eh~? Why?"

"He'd just forget him twenty seconds later," Tatsuki explained with smile.

Ichigo grunted. "Shut up."

"Is that even possible?" Orihime asked her.

"With Ichigo, anything's possible."

"I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment," Ichigo said dryly.

"Then consider it both," Tatsuki replied. "It can mean _anything_ after all."

"Whatever." He sighed. "Well, since there's nothing else interesting around here, I'm going to get some lunch. You girls wanna eat with Chad and me?"

Sado looked at the girls, though the expression on his face was vague and close to being regarded as unfazed. He didn't really mind whether the girls rejected their offer to eat with them or not.

"What about the two simpletons who ran away earlier?" Tatsuki asked.

"After knowing that me and Chad are in twenty-third and eleventh, respectively, I don't think they'll come near us for the rest of the day," Ichigo answered. He then added, "Which is pretty much a godsend."

She nodded and said, "Only if you're buying."

"Condition refused, offer withdrawn."

"Hey, don't be like that. I was just kidding around."

"I know." He smirked. "Come on."

"Wait!" Orihime exclaimed as the others were turning to go.

"What is it, Inoue?" Ichigo asked.

She didn't answer his question; her attention was on her best friend. "You and Sado-kun can go on ahead. I have to do something with Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo kept quiet while Tatsuki closed in on her and made a huddle with her. Orihime was already thinking up some good defensive formations for the opposing team to try and get through before she realized that there _was_ no opposing team and they weren't playing American Football. Her mind just assumed that by huddling, that meant they were playing American Football. Maybe she'll suggest a basketball-football hybrid game like she and Tatsuki did with baseball and soccer. It would be quite interesting to see people being tackled while dribbling a ball.

"Is this about the spirit stuff?" Tatsuki whispered in her ear.

"No," Orihime whispered back, mimicking Tatsuki. "I just think Kurosaki-kun should need to remember at least Ishida-kun in our class. Kurosaki-kun might not have noticed but Ishida-kun seems to have an above average spiritual presence."

"But I don't see the point in introducing those two with each other. They're more likely to kill each other than to sit down and talk civilly over some tea and scones."

". . . scones?" She titled her head.

"Never mind. Anyway, you get what I mean."

As a matter of fact, Orihime did, but she wasn't about to let that little obstacle keep her from doing what she intended to do. "I still think they should at least be acquainted with each other."

"And if he refuses, still?"

Orihime didn't answer.

"You're bent on introducing him to Ishida no matter how much he protests, right?"

"Well . . . that's a little . . ."

Tatsuki smiled at her. "Go for it, Orihime."

"Heh?"

"The guy with the memory gap needs reminding." She pointed her thumb at Ichigo, who was asking Sado something. "And I don't think he'll refuse you a second time if you're insistent."

"Do you really think so?" she asked timidly.

"There's no harming in trying, is there."

Orihime thought about it a bit. "No, I guess not."

"Then good luck with that." Tatsuki moved away from their huddle and walked towards the giant. "Come on, Sado." She then turned to the remaining two, "We'll be on the roof."

Sado followed her.

"So . . . what do you want to do?" Ichigo asked Orihime.

Gathering her courage, Orihime grabbed Ichigo's wrist and started walking down the opposite corridor. She had caught a glimpse of his surprise from their contact, but thankfully he didn't resist her dragging him to wherever.

"Where are we going, Inoue?"

"To class."

"Why? You forgot something there? Your wallet?"

"No, I have mine right in my pocket." She tapped the area below her right hip twice.

"Then why are we going back there?"

"To first check if he is there."

"Who's _he_?"

Orihime didn't reply, and it was good timing that they reached the door to their classroom. Before Ichigo could ask her again, she slid the door open and scanned the room. And there, sitting in the middle of the crowd of empty desks and chairs, was the person she was looking for. He was alone, eating his bento by himself, with a thin pocket book in his right hand. As if he had practice it for years, he masterfully turned the pages of the booklet one-handed while serving his mouth a chunk of rice. His eating was slow and precise, his attention mainly on the words in the book. Orihime was familiar with the novella Ishida was reading. While he was already reading the fourth volume of the series, she was just starting out with the first volume.

"Come on," she said to Ichigo, and pulled him inside the room and towards Ishida's seat.

By this point, Ichigo already put the pieces together on her plan. "No, no, no. I said we don't need any reintroductions."

Unfortunately, his words fell on deaf ears.

"Ishida-kun," Orihime greeted.

Ishida looked away from his book and acknowledged her. His eyes then moved towards the one she had dragged into the room. Orihime wasn't sure but she could've sworn that Ishida's eyes narrowed a little at the sight of Ichigo. Shrugging it off as probably refraction from Ishida's square-shaped, rimless glasses, she pulled Ichigo closer to Ishida's seat.

"What is it?" Ishida asked, his eyes showing a small bit of annoyance.

"We were here to congratulate you for being the top ranked first year student in the school," Orihime said, though she stuttered and sounded really nervous. Even if she considered it somewhat a white lie, she still had trouble lying something this simple.

Thankfully, Ishida didn't look suspiciously at her or Ichigo. He just settled down his chopsticks to adjust his glasses by pushing it back to the top of the bridge of his nose. His gaze was solely on Ichigo now as if waiting for him to vouch her reason.

She elbowed Ichigo lightly, and he clearly got the message. "Yeah," he said.

"Well, you've now done what you came here for," Ishida replied, taking his chopsticks. "And I prefer to eat alone and in silence."

_This is not going so well_, Orihime thought. Tatsuki had warned her about the possibility of this happening, and Orihime could already see the way Ichigo's eyes narrowing from Ishida's rebuff of their attempts. Ichigo doesn't like people acting in an almighty way around him.

When Ichigo was about to retaliate, she instinctively grabbed his forearm. Her grip was tight, and it had the desired effect on the recipient. Ichigo turned his head at her, and she gazed meaningfully at his eyes, sending a silent message that she didn't want him to start a fight. While Rukia placates him with an aggressive front, Orihime does the opposite and tries what she can to calm Ichigo down by using gestures and words. She rarely initiates contact of her own accord, but when she does it always means something deep. Orihime wasn't sure what it was but understood that it was deep. And every time she did so, Ichigo often calmed down. Doing this again, right here inside the classroom where a few of their other classmates had been witnessing the exchange between the orange-haired duo and Ishida with little interest but soon had their whole attention once it was clear that a fight—verbal, not physical—was about to occur, Orihime felt very self-conscious with half a dozen students staring at them, not to mention when she heard a group of girls eating lunch and whispering about what her hands were holding on. But this wasn't about her at all. She had to keep Ichigo from making a bigger scene than the one they inadvertently made already.

When Ichigo closed his mouth, she let him go. He must've understood the other part of her silent message because he didn't turn to leave right away. She wanted him to at least try and be civil with Ishida. That would make it easier for them to interact with him when, by chance, his sensitivity to the supernatural heightens to a formidable level that seeing Pluses wandering around in school and in the city will be as common as seeing people go by in Times Square. And that was not an exaggeration. Orihime wasn't sure what propelled her in putting them both into this situation but it was just one of her strong gut feelings that motivated her. It never wronged her before, and she had been feeling it for quite a while around Ishida since the time they went back to school on the eighteenth. Before she could initiate conversation with Ishida again, her companion beat her to it.

"Are you Christian?"

Orihime wondered where that question came from.

Ishida sighed, and then closed his book, knowing that he won't be having much reading time while the man standing beside his seat was scrutinizing his very presence. "What's it to you if I am?"

"Nothing, really."

"Then why ask?"

Orihime had the slight suspicion that Ishida absolutely _hated_ Ichigo's guts, but maybe she was just imagining things. The two rarely speak or even acknowledge each other; that lack of communication didn't necessarily mean that one harbors great hatred towards the other. Yeah, she was probably just imagining it like all the other imaginative nonsense Tatsuki said she spewed sometimes.

"You're wearing a cross," Ichigo said to Ishida.

"Your point?"

"It's a Celtic cross, too."

"Just because I'm wearing a cross that has religious history on its symbolism does not mean that I'm into that religion. I might be just wearing it for the fashion, have you ever thought of that, Kurosaki?"

"Didn't think you'd be the fashionista kinda guy."

"Is there anything else you two need?" He raised an eyebrow. "I wish to get back to my lunch before classes resume."

Orihime understood that part of Ishida's character. Being in the handicrafts club with him gave her time to discern bits of his personality, so she knew immediately that he wanted to end the conversation now. And that meant _now_.

Ichigo grunted and turned away from Ishida. Orihime watched him go for a few steps before following him out. She took one final glance at Ishida over her shoulder and saw him going back to eating. But his gaze never left Ichigo and her until they were well out of sight.

* * *

Lunch came and went. The same went for classes. By the time that it was after school hours, Ichigo and Rukia were already at the gates and heading for home. Orihime, however, had to stay because there was a scheduled meeting of the handicrafts club today. All members had to attend, which included her and Ishida. Orihime fixed the things in her bag and moved out of her seat. She and one other person were the only people left in the classroom; Tatsuki had already left for the Karate club.

"Let's go," Ishida said, as he slid the door open for her.

This was almost tradition to them since joining the club. The club itself didn't really take much of their time since meetings only occur twice a week, and recently meetings were adjourned a week before the exams until the last day of the exams. So today everyone in the club had a lot of catching up to do.

What stuff they need to catch up on is classified information. Orihime believes all of you will understand.

While she and Ishida descended the stairs to the ground floor, her curiosity on Ishida's subtle hostility towards Ichigo resurfaced and she couldn't let it go. It clung to her like she was its last lifeline. And it didn't seem willing to go away until she fulfilled what it wanted to know. She had to relent to it.

"Um, Ishida-kun," she paused, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he stopped walking, she continued, "Are you mad at Kurosaki-kun, by any chance?"

No one but them was there; the stairs in which they were still on and the first floor corridor where to the west leads to the handicrafts clubroom were pretty much deserted, but there was a bundle of activity at the back of the school, where most of the physical-type clubs like the Karate club, Track and field club, and the Soccer club were training at. That didn't make Orihime relax at the tense atmosphere, however. There may be ambient noises frolicking about in the air, but the silence permeating between them was louder in a sense. Much, much louder.

Because his back was to her, she couldn't make out what his face was like when she asked. But she was positive that he had been calm with his answer.

"I'm not mad at Kurosaki _per se_, but I hate what he represents."

"Hate?" Orihime repeated in disbelief. That would explain his hostility but not the _reason_ behind it. _What did he mean by 'what he represents'?_

"To put it plainly, I can tolerate him being in the same class as me, but I reach my limit once he starts talking to me, breathing the same air as me. I absolutely _abhor_ his kind."

"You don't like punks?" Orihime asked, not really getting where he was taking this conversation. "Because Kurosaki-kun is not like that at all. You just didn't give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure that if you two try to like each other, you'll see that friendship is not far from—"

"I detest you as much as him," Ishida cut through her rambling.

Orihime felt like she had been kneed in the gut. It took a while for her to fully process the sheer intensity of his seven-word statement and how it affected her and her feelings. She had never met anyone who would hate her as much as Ishida was saying to her. She didn't know how to react to this other than shock.

Ishida glanced over his shoulder, and Orihime finally saw how true his words were to his emotions, the intense hatred borne in the eyes behind the lenses. "Because you are the same as him."

He resumed his descent from the stairs, not even concerned to what his harsh words had done to Orihime. She stood in the middle of those stairs for minutes, which might have stretched to hours if it wasn't for Orihime's sempai who was also a member of handicrafts club and heading for the clubroom threw her out of her funk . . . for the time being.

Needless to say, Orihime did not speak to Ishida for the duration of the meeting. She couldn't even make eye contact with the guy. Her mind was too wrapped up with questions as to the deeper reason of Ishida's hatred. But one thing was for sure: She wouldn't be getting answers today.

* * *

Ichigo yawned as he absently placed this week's _Shonen Jump_ issue on his desk. He had done his homework not too long ago (which didn't take a lot of time since he only had homework for one subject today), and had settled for some entertainment in the weekly comics. None of the stories the thick comic book offered him was of interest, but he read some of them anyway because he really had nothing better to do.

Rukia was in her spot—his closet—and keeping quiet for hours. Ichigo didn't have a clue what she does inside those four constricting walls and didn't want to _have a clue_ at all. The Mod Soul currently inhabiting the body of a lion plushie had a different goal in mind. Which was why he tied the mini-pervert up and hung him up on the ceiling, making Kon look like a piñata swinging around as if it had been hit by 'the stick' recently. Apparently, Kon had escaped from the clutches of his little sister not too long ago and wasn't about to come back to her in her open arms, so he turned to Rukia for some comfort.

"Traumatized . . ." he had wheezed as he lay on the floor after barging into Ichigo's room. "I've been forced to do _things_ for two weeks."

Ichigo never asked what he meant nor did he care. He just tied him up, with some help from Rukia, and let him hang there until he deemed his little punishment over.

When Kon was once again trying to spit out some curses from his gagged mouth, Rukia opened the closet door and stepped out. She was looking at her cell phone, which Ichigo instantly knew what she was about to do.

"Time for evening patrol," she said, her eyes never leaving the small screen of the phone.

Ichigo looked out the window and saw the night sky and the town entering the dark atmosphere of the nightlife. If he were to judge the time current time, he would say it was between nine and ten. He glanced at Kon for a moment. The little bastard looked as if Christmas came early. And Ichigo knew why.

Hiding a sadistic smile, convincing himself that Kon's punishment was quite far from over, Ichigo said to Rukia, "Use your glove today. Kon's still in probation."

Kon screamed in indignation which was muffled from the gag. Ichigo was sure the mini-pervert was saying curses while he screamed.

"No arguments there," Rukia agreed, and slipped on her Soul Glove.

Once his soul was ejected from his body, and the latter was now lying on the bed with its eyes closed as if it was sleeping, both he and Rukia jumped out of the window, leaving Kon to keep on screaming at them until his throat hurt.

"So," Ichigo said as they landed on the street, "which area will we be patrolling tonight?"

"The western part of the city. There has been a recent influx of reishi (_**tr.**_Spirit Particles) in that area. It's small and not a cause for alarm, but better to investigate and see what is causing it."

"All right."

They silently made their way to the western side of the city. Rukia alternated between reading the radar and looking where she was going. Ichigo really didn't do anything, so he just walked along with her and waited for her exclamation of a Hollow or the trademark beeping of her phone.

He wasn't always the one Rukia had to drag all around the city for patrols. Well, not anymore, ever since Rukia and he accepted Orihime's help. The work load had diminished quite a lot, and that at least gave him the necessary time to study for the exams. It was around three days after they let Orihime in with the duties that Rukia had scheduled a patrol for each of them. Of course, she would have to be present with the current day's patrol, so whenever it was Orihime's turn to patrol around the city Rukia would go over to her house or state a meeting place via text message; thank goodness Orihime can read received text messages from her cell phone now. Ichigo didn't argue with the setup because it had its benefits, which was time for him to catch up with his normal life. That and it gave him time to mull over the recent predicament with him and Orihime alone for once; he couldn't really think as if he was alone when a 150-year-old old maid was in his closet.

He didn't have any kind of progress except for knowing that he and Orihime had gotten closer for the past month. If it weren't for Rukia's appearance and the subsequent events that played out, he might not have gotten this close to Orihime at all. But he wondered where his relationship with her lead to. Rukia had been hinting to him about something concerning Orihime, but he didn't quite get it. It was either he was just dense (which was unlikely because he was half-admitting it to himself, and dense people don't admit they're dense) or Rukia's hints were so obscure and archaic that a 19th century samurai will have better luck figuring them out than him. But at least he saw some improvement in Orihime after her initial death. She had always been known to be a bundle of cheeriness and energy, but deep inside he somehow knew that she was wearing a mask to hide away the deeper and darker emotions of her psyche. Not anymore, though. Well, maybe not all of the pieces of her mask were gone but it was better than nothing. She must have had a lot of stuff going on her shoulders: the suspicions of her birth, which was confirmed to be true, after all; acceptance to their group (Ichigo didn't know about this until she confessed about feeling like a third wheel); getting used to her newfound powers; and controlling Emi.

His thoughts suddenly derailed, however, when he heard the beeping.

"Ichigo, to the northeast," Rukia stated.

"Got it!" He was already gripping his sword when the beeping stopped abruptly. He also felt a sudden change in the wind.

"Wait." She examined the phone's screen. "That's odd. The Hollow's disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

Ichigo only got to say two syllables before the phone was beeping furiously.

"Another one. To the north."

The beeping stopped.

"Wha—?" Rukia said in disbelief. "It's disappeared, too."

"Hey, is that thing broken or something?"

"No," she answered vehemently. "Something's eradicating the Hollows seconds after they enter the Human World."

"And how can you be sure of that?"

"It's better than thinking that the radar is broken."

". . . you have really screwed-up standards, don't you?" _Usually people would first think that the radar is broken before speculating of something doing a shinigami's job for them._

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He didn't have time to answer.

In the silence of the street, the two heard the sound of footsteps approaching the streetlight in which they were under, interrupting the start of another argument between them. Ichigo could only see a silhouette that gradually turns white as it comes closer to the artificial light. He thought it would be just some passer-by, but after sensing Rukia tense at the presence of this person, he thought otherwise.

"Incompetent," the person announced, his face still obscured by the darkness of the night, but Ichigo could swear that he recognized that voice. "You call yourself a shinigami? You couldn't even do your job properly that I have to do it for you. Not that I mind. It's better for you to just disappear and let me do the job of eliminating the Hollows."

Ichigo tensed, keeping silent until he found his voice back. He was certain this person was human, but it shocked him to realize that the person can see him _and_ know what he is. Was he another spiritually sensitive person like him and Orihime?

The person stepped closer to the light, revealing his face to the two. He had pitch-black hair, contrasting the white with blue stripes clothing he was wearing. And behind the square rimless glasses were a pair of eyes that directed hate towards Ichigo's general direction.

Recognition hit Ichigo lightly. "You . . ." _Uh . . . what was his name again?_

Like I said, _lightly_.

"Uryuu Ishida," he introduced himself. "I had a feeling you would forget who I am."

Ichigo felt insulted.

Ishida pointed to his right. "If I'm not mistaken, a Hollow will appear approximately four-hundred yards away from my position."

"What?" He and Rukia said in disbelief simultaneously. And a second later, Rukia's phone started beeping again.

"A Hollow . . ." She looked to her left, the same direction that Ishida was pointing, "will come from over there."

Before Ichigo could move, he felt that sudden change in the air again. And it was coming from Ishida. When he looked back at the bespectacled teen, he noticed something he hadn't before. Wrapped around his right wrist, which was his pointing arm, was the Celtic cross he had seen him wear during school. The chain was encircled neatly around Ishida's wrist that there was no question that it was quite secured. But that wasn't all. Dangling under his arm was one end of the chained necklace with a ring roughly the diameter of his thumb at the bottom. Power radiated from it.

"Let me demonstrate," Ishida said, "the right way in eliminating a Hollow."

Right before Ichigo's eyes, he saw the reishi gathered in the air concentrate onto the cross and materialize into a blue mass of light. It was shapeless at first, like water, but as Ishida shifted the form of his hand from a pointing gesture to something that looked as if he was holding a stick, the shapeless mass transformed, redirecting its flow to something that resembled a curve or a parabola.

_No, it looks more like a bow._

Ichigo was right in his assumption, for as the mass of reishi assembled itself into a bow, Ishida inserted his left hand's forefinger into the dangling ring and pulled it back up to the joint of his right shoulder. Another mass of reishi materialized and concentrated itself into the shape of an arrow thrice the normal size.

Ishida let go of the ring, and the arrow soared through the air like a blue bullet.

When it dispersed—probably hitting its mark—Rukia's announced that the Hollow was gone. Her cell phone seemed dead without the beeping.

"Who _are_ you?" she questioned Ishida.

Ishida adjusted his glasses, and said, "Like I said before: Uryuu Ishida. I am the Last Quincy."

"Quincy . . ." she murmured.

"And I hate shinigami." With that, he walked away.

"Hey!" Ichigo exclaimed. He was really starting to hate this guy. Not only did he show up abruptly, he was leaving abruptly as well. Ichigo didn't like his attitude. "Uryuu Ishida."

"What?" Ishida replied, his back to them.

"Face the one you're talking to, man. You're acting all high and mighty"—which is the cause of Ichigo's irritation—"and I don't like it."

"If I were to face you, then I'd be showing respect. Now why would I show respect to someone I hate?"

"What?" Ichigo gritted his teeth. Oh yes, this guy definitely needed an old-fashioned attitude adjustment with Ichigo's fists.

"I thought we had established that by now. You are quite slow. I hate shinigami." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. "That means I hate _you_, Ichigo Kurosaki."

He didn't say anymore and just left.

"Ichigo."

He turned to Rukia, who put her cell phone back into her pocket.

"We should head home."

"Why?"

She looked towards the darkness, the place where Ishida disappeared to. "The Quincy will handle our duty for tonight."

"Wha—?" Ichigo was dumbstruck. "What the hell, Rukia? You're just gonna let that creep step on us like we're nothing. Well, I sure as hell won't and—"

"This isn't about your pride, Ichigo!"

"Of course it's not!"

"Then stop acting like a child for once." She paused and took a deep breath. "We'll let the Quincy take care of any Hollows that come, but only for tonight. As of now, neither of us knows how to proceed with this predicament. The Quincy are supposed to be extinct. They have been so for over two centuries now."

After Ichigo calmed down a bit, he asked, "So, what now?"

"You need to be educated about the Quincy and how they use their spiritual energy in eliminating Hollows."

He looked doubtful, because with Rukia explaining things, that always meant she would have her trusty sketchbook with her. "You're not gonna use any doodles, are you? Because I don't think I have the stomach for it tonight."

Rukia clobbered his head, much to his chagrin. And to add insult to injury, she _did_ have drawings to illustrate her discussion.

Ichigo slept that night with dreams of bow-wielding rabbits shooting arrows with heart-shaped fletches.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I write everyone's names in Western order (first name before surname). The Japanese, however, put their surnames before their first names. Let's just put it this way: In the narrative form—which is me telling the story and stuff—I write them in Western order, but to stay true to the fact that the Bleach world is in Japan, I put all written documents and such in the reverse order.

I made an Easter Egg in this chapter. If you can remember the scene where Ishida was reading his book while in Orihime's POV, then you know that he's in the fourth volume of the novella series while Orihime's still in the first, right? Here's a trivia: Ishida's debut in the manga was in the fourth volume, and Orihime's debut was in the first. Pretty obscure, but at least I had a laugh out of it.

And I really can't see the canon Ichigo being sadistic to Kon. He is mostly indifferent to the little guy's misfortunes (though Ichigo's often the cause of it), but this is an AU and the differences from this universe from the canon-verse have caused Ichigo to have a small grudge on the Mod Soul. I guess his anger on Kon seeing Orihime topless went deeper than I thought.


	16. Archer & Swordsman: Act I

Date written: 19/09/09 – 03/10/09

Posted on FanFiction: 04/10/09

A/N: Here's another chapter to indulge yourselves into. I also have to announce that I won't be writing anymore updates until next week. The Final Exams are in two days time, and I'm devoting what time I have for studies and finishing up some final projects. Boy, what a hassle.

Whatever stuff narrated about Ishida's preference, it's all in the author's imagination.

And to **Demonbloodfeeder**: I am aware of the fact that Rukia didn't know anything about the Quincy until Urahara explained it to her. But the matter is that this is an AU where I've inadvertently made Rukia a bookworm. And with that in mind, she might have heard about the Quincy while she had been reading the many stacks of books in the Academy's library—and, in extension, the Kuchiki library. One of the more drastic changes I've made for Rukia's character is something in her past. In canon, she graduated prematurely due to Byakuya's influence. In this universe, she requested her new 'brother' that he let her finish her studies for the whole six years. Though she had been moved from her dorm and began living in Byakuya's mansion. Anyway, this will be elaborated a bit more in the Soul Society arc through Renji's POV. He _was_ after all the guy who 'encouraged' Rukia to take the chance of getting adopted to a noble family and graduate immediately. (Sigh) Such inner turmoil and regret.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 16 ---**

**Archer and Swordsman: Act I**

The next day, Orihime looked less cheery than usual. After a night of pondering over Ishida—with a bit of Ichigo daydreaming on the side—she found some similarities between her and Ichigo. Some varied in circumstances but the generality was still there.

One of those happened to be the color of their hair. Both had the hair color that is between yellow and red, though Orihime's hair has a darker shade than Ichigo's. Now Orihime considered this as a reason for Ishida's hate, but then scrapped it because it was unlikely for an intellectual person like Ishida to be bias over a person's hair color. Unless, of course, he was thinking that orange was an unnatural hair color and thought that both might have bleached it, thus generating the hate since Ishida is strict when it comes to rules and regulations. Whether this theory of hers was true or not, Orihime would look the other way over this. She could only think of one solution to turn Ishida's opinion of them, convincing him that their hair color is quite natural, but it involved showing him something _very_ personal. She was already blushing in embarrassment just thinking about it!

Another similarity would have to be their being friends with Tatsuki. Orihime theorized that maybe Ishida has a crush on Tatsuki and hates the fact that she and Ichigo are closer to Tatsuki than he currently is. A more plausible explanation, but the downside was that it was impossible for Ishida to show any attractions towards her best friend. She would've noticed right away. Woman's Intuition and such, you know.

Yet another similarity was their ability to see ghosts.

. . . immediately rebuffed. There was no way Ishida would know anything about _that_, right?

Sure, she sensed some bouts of spiritual energy from within Ishida, but it was small and quite contained. Orihime didn't have the proper ability to gauge a person's spiritual sensitivity and quickly discover if he or she can see ghosts like her, but one thing was perfectly clear: Ishida had a larger than average reserve of spiritual energy.

Orihime reached the intersection where she often met up with Tatsuki, and there was said girl, leaning on a streetlight, punctual as usual. Orihime smiled for the first time today.

"Morning," Tatsuki greeted. Orihime greeted her back and walked alongside her as they made their way to school.

And while on the way, Orihime's earlier theory came back to her. "Tatsuki-chan."

"Yeah?" She turned to Orihime, her arms pulled back behind her head; hands intertwined as they rested on her nape.

Orihime watched as Tatsuki's bag dangled and rocked like a pendulum in her hands. _"Does Ishida-kun have a crush on you?"_ she wanted to ask, but her mouth was as tightlipped as a sealed vault door. Tried as she might, she couldn't put her thoughts into words.

Tatsuki waited, arching a brow at her unexpected silence.

She tried to ask her question again, but then her throat decided to become a nuisance as well. In the end, she just shook her head at her friend and resumed her walk.

Tatsuki caught up with her and asked what was wrong.

Orihime shook her head again, and this time adding a verbal message. "It's nothing."

"If 'nothing' means 'something,'" she replied. "What's bugging you today, Orihime?"

The same old Tatsuki. She saw through her lies yet again. But that trait was not exactly helping Orihime with her situation. She wanted to ask her the question, but something was keeping her from doing so. And she had suspicion on what—or rather _who_—was causing it.

_**Not me, princess. You're still in full control.**_

Though Emi had said that, Orihime still heard her laughing out loud from the deepest edges of her mentality. It was quite disconcerting. And disturbing at the same time, hearing laughter inside her own head.

Orihime sighed through her nose and kept eye contact with Tatsuki, so as not to increase her suspicion. "I'll tell you later, 'kay?"

Tatsuki looked a little surprised, but nodded nonetheless.

Their conversation moved to more trivial things, and when they met up with Rukia and Ichigo, their talks got even livelier. Ichigo explicitly showed his annoyance at Rukia's lady-like speech, but it was ignored by all. Apart from anything other than that, the rest of the foursome's trek towards school was uninteresting.

* * *

Uryuu Ishida approached and sat on his desk twenty minutes before the start of homeroom. Normally, he'd be here in his seat thirty minutes before the start of homeroom, but he had to finish up some loose ends last night and ended up sleeping for only four hours. He didn't mind, but he would have to get used to this new kind of routine if he were to even think about taking the place of the useless shinigami guarding Karakura.

Instead of waiting for the sound of the first bell, he dug out a small book from his bag and then opened it to the bookmarked page. Adjusting his glasses, he began to read.

This is how Uryuu usually spends his free time on. He had always regarded books as objects much mightier than swords, because of the knowledge imprinted in its pages. Ever since Uryuu had been a little boy, when his grandfather Souken had still been alive, books were his doors to worlds that he wanted to discover and learn. People might think of him as practical and very serious, but his choice of genre might tilt a few heads of people who actually believe those stereotypical affiliations of his personality. He comes out as serious because that's just how he was raised, but in the all-work-but-no-play kind of world he had been subjected to after Uryuu's father, Ryuuken, took him back to concentrating on his academics, he found solitude in fantasy stories. They depicted worlds that are far more extraordinary than this dull one, regardless that souls and evil spirits lurk all over this world.

"When you're old enough to read and write, then you're old enough to understand and learn all of this," Ryuuken had once said to him, gesturing to the pile of books he placed on Uryuu's desk.

It had been stressful and often exhausting, but he had realized that both burying himself in academics and in the fictional worlds of fantasy novels were great distractions and coping instruments for his grandfather's death. So he managed his time in doing both activities. Ryuuken accepted Uryuu's preference on spending his leisure time on, but he also stressed that if the boy's grades were to waver by even one point, then kiss the novels goodbye for three whole months.

There was no need for the threat, though. Uryuu was practically in the pinnacle when it came to achieving the highest ranks in academics. You would find no other bookworm like him in Karakura High School. By the age of twelve, he realized another hobby he wanted to do in his spare time: Handicraft.

To be more precise, Uryuu seems to have talent in embroidering and sewing. He was not exactly sure if his talent for needlework had stemmed from his training of being a Quincy, but he would like to think that this was his natural talent apart from his other prodigious achievements. On the plus side, he didn't mind if guys found it girly because if the act relaxes him, then who's stopping him from honing and refining his skills? Peer pressure is nothing but an excuse for people who want to fit in but need to do something that go against their principles. For him, he didn't want to fit in if he had to force himself into it. If people wanted to be his friend, then fine by him. If people wanted to ostracize him, fine by him. If people wanted to pick a fight with him, fine by him . . . when they've already made preparations for their graves.

Some might not understand his outlook, but that was just how a loner lives day-to-day. Uryuu doesn't think that he'd likely survive without human contact; rather he tends to distance himself a little with people. None would call him a friend outright, but more of an acquaintance if an answer was desired.

Uryuu replaced the bookmark onto the novella just as the school bell rang. There was approximately a three- to five-minute delay before homeroom would start, as was often the case ever since the start of the spring term. This gave the rest of the class more than enough time to scurry to their seats and, for some latecomers, the last stretch of hope that they won't be marked late if they reach the classroom before the teacher.

After homeroom, the next teacher started his class immediately.

It may have been one of those typical days, but Uryuu sensed something off. He wasn't oblivious to what it was, either; he knew exactly what was causing him slight discomfort. Near the back of the class, the eyes of two orange-haired students were looking at him from time to time, as if they were keeping an eye out. Well, who could really blame them after the talk he made with each of them? That definitely aroused more questions than anyone would prefer to have concerning him.

He ignored them for the better part of the school day, and they thankfully stopped around after lunchtime. It was only a theory, but Uryuu might be right to assume that the two had talked to each other during lunch and came to an unanimous conclusion. What that would entail for him, he wasn't sure. But there was no point in beating things around the bush. Uryuu was pretty much out in the open now, and delaying things any further would do more harm than good.

He had to set an example to these shinigami, whether it be Orihime Inoue or Ichigo Kurosaki. Rukia Kuchiki currently wasn't a threat, since he sensed very little spiritual energy in her. She may as well as pass off as a normal high school student with that level of spiritual energy, but Uryuu suspected that she is just low on power. Clearly not a threat, yet.

The next teacher entered the classroom, instructing everybody to settle down and go back to their seats.

As he dug out the required textbook from his bag, Uryuu decided that it was better to wait until after school before making his move.

* * *

Right around lunchtime that same day, Ichigo mulled over his thoughts over the so-called Last Quincy on the rooftop. According to Rukia, there had been conflicts between shinigami and spiritually-talented humans two hundred years ago. The conflict had gotten so bad that the higher officials of Soul Society instigated all shinigami on duty to kill any Quincy on sight, lest the balance of souls between the dead and the living would decay and create chaos. Rukia described the silent war between the Quincy and the shinigami as one of the bloodiest decisions Soul Society had been forced to do, though his gruesome imagination of it was shattered after seeing the doodle she had cooked up for that particular scene.

It was due to this bit of info that he came to the conclusion that Ishida hates shinigami because of that war. The war that had literally wiped his kind from existence.

For some reason unknown even to him, he suddenly had this urge to talk to him about this enmity that somehow resembled a downscaled version of the Cold War. Neither side would be the first to provoke the other, but both were very much on guard. Ichigo wasn't sure how long the cease-fire would last or if Ishida would actually take his hatred of shinigami to a more dangerous level. And that worried him, not out of fear of himself but out of fear of the people who might unknowingly get involved in the ensuing fight. Most of all, he was worried about Orihime. She was, after all, a shinigami, and that automatically meant receiving Ishida's hatred.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Ichigo looked to his side and found Orihime leaning against the roof railing, imitating him. She smiled.

"Not much to think about, really," he replied, not breaking eye contact. There was just something calming about the shade of gray borne in her eyes that if he were to look away now he could end up feeling nervous under her subtle scrutiny.

"It doesn't hurt to share, right?" she answered back.

Ichigo sighed through his nose and looked up to the cloudy blue sky. It was a decent alternative for the calming gray, and he needed to sort out some of his thoughts before beginning to explain to her about his troubles. If this moment had happened before his mother's death anniversary, then he would've made his troubles his troubles _only_. None of that 'share your problems with me and you'll feel better' crap for him. It was all too sentimental for his taste, but on that day, something in him changed—for the better or for the worse, he couldn't tell. Yet, anyway. He was more open to Orihime now, and he sometimes ended up sharing more detailed perceptions that wouldn't even see the light of day since they had always been behind closed doors in Ichigo's head. He didn't mind being open to her—it felt nice—but just wary of how much he was willing to spill before it got too personal. When it came to Orihime and his recent openness to her, there were no boundaries for his secrets anymore. If they want to come out of his mouth, they come equipped with a battering ram.

So, after organizing his thoughts carefully, making sure that whatever he says would be on-topic at all times, he began. "It's about Ishida."

He wasn't sure if it was a gut feeling, instinct, or even mild telepathy, but he could've sworn he _felt_ Orihime react sorrowfully at the last word.

"I think he hates me," Ichigo said. Okay, an outright lie, but he wanted to settle this problem with Ishida alone. If there was a chance that Ishida would aim and pull his arrow at her, then Ichigo would do everything in his power to prevent such a thing from happening. The simplest solution would be to keep her out of it. He knew that he was reverting back to the old way he treated Orihime, but he convinced himself that this will only be a one-time thing and then no more. As far as he was concerned, her safety was more important.

"Why?" she asked, her voice strained like a recorded voice pitched too high. She cleared her throat and asked again.

"I don't know. Maybe he was offended by my Christian question yesterday or something." He shrugged. "But even a blind person can see the hate in his eyes."

"I'm sure you're just exaggerating things. Maybe he just dislikes you."

_What's the difference?_ Ichigo thought. _Both of them mean that he hates me._

"There's actually a difference, if that's what you're thinking," she added.

"How—"

"Ah! So you _were_ thinking that, huh?"

Ichigo said nothing.

"The main difference between hate and dislike is more in terms of logic and how it's defined. Hate is a concrete and obvious choice of word, while dislike is vaguer. Dislike means 'not like,' right? Now 'not like' doesn't automatically mean hate. It's in neutral grounds."

"Where'd you get that from?" he asked.

"From a novella I've been reading recently. Ishida-kun is already on the fourth volume, so—"

"Say no more, please. I don't want to know about his reading preferences."

"Are you sure? It's a very interesting fantasy story with a trimonthly release. Some pages even have colored drawings like the ones in special edition hardcover books."

"Isn't what you're referring to earlier called a light novel nowadays?" He had seen his fair share of those while browsing through some magazines in the local bookstore. One of the more popular ones he had seen was about a girl named Haruhi, though he was clueless about its storyline.

"Yes, they are, but the author of the fantasy story kept referring to them as novellas than light novels. I guess it kind of stuck with the fans."

"I see."

"But we're getting off topic here. Maybe Ishida-kun is just indifferent towards you, neither friendly nor hostile."

"I doubt that," he muttered.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Got any ideas?"

She presented her forefinger as if she was pointing towards the sky. "One: Try talking to him."

"And then wait for pigs to fly," he added with sarcasm. "We know how that will end up." He paused, and mulled over what she suggested. If he had to be honest, he could actually see some merit in that action since it will help settle the problem faster, and he had been meaning to talk to the guy after school. The sooner he got this done, the better, though he wasn't hoping for a peaceful conversation. That would never happen. "But I'll try, at least," he added.

"Everything will be fine, Kurosaki-kun."

Yeah, he hoped so.

* * *

When the last bell of the day rang throughout the school, Rukia packed her bag and headed out without even waiting for Ichigo or Orihime. Both had other agendas before they had to go home. Rukia was the same.

After Urahara's revelations on the existence of the sinister Hollows known as the Lückenhaft, Rukia had been busy discovering more about these creatures. From what the storekeeper had told, he only knew the tip of the iceberg and that there were never any deep researches about the black-masked Hollows since they were quite rare. The Lückenhaft were pretty much a threat that none is prepared to handle and overcome.

Thankfully, Urahara assured her that he'd be digging additional information about the Lückenhaft in the many tomes and books he had taken with him before he escaped the clutches of Soul Society. Rukia didn't bother asking if Urahara was the rightful owner of all those books. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, and whatever they could find out about the Lückenhaft would have to be put in the forefront. Rare books, ancient tomes, illegal documents, banned books, it didn't matter. It was the information they needed that mattered.

That was her intention for today. She had received a call earlier from the shopkeeper that he might have found something that would interest her. He didn't disclose anything else (afraid that his message might get intercepted, as paranoid as that sounds), but her curiosity was at its peak by the end of the call. By the time she reached the first intersection, she was mixing walking and jogging together.

Not long after she made it to the front of the Urahara Shop, she felt five signatures inside the house. Four of them, she recognized right away, but the last one eluded her. It was either a customer or an intruder. She thought more about the latter possibility but rejected it after a few moments of thought. Urahara, Tessai, Ururu, and Jinta wouldn't be standing by calmly while the fifth presence was showing off its suppressed spiritual pressure like a balloon slowly releasing air before it pops. That would mean that the fifth was an ally, but could she be sure.

_I'm getting as paranoid as Urahara_, she thought with disgust before knocking at the front door.

Ururu answered the door and ushered Rukia in. "Kisuke-san is waiting for you in the living room," she said before going back to the register at the corner to the left of the entrance.

Rukia walked towards the living room, mentally preparing herself for any kind of bombshell Urahara had in store for her. But the preparation was for nothing since Urahara was once again in music bliss, listening to some song in his iPod.

The man was banging his head up and down, synchronized with the beat of the music. His eyes were closed like before, so he didn't acknowledge her entrance. Urahara wasn't the only living being in the room, however. The tatami mat that was around the circular low table had three purple fluffy pillows positioned in the 12, 3, and 6 o'clock points. Urahara was seated on the 6, while the other living being—a black cat, of all living beings—was taking a nap on the 3 o'clock point. Since there was only one pillow left vacant, she sat herself there.

Urahara was still in his music bliss, murmuring bits of the song's lyrics. Rukia wasn't profound in foreign languages, more so when it came to English, so she wasn't able to understand three-fourth of the man's low-pitched murmurs.

Rukia heard a mew from her left. The black cat stretched while digging some of its claws into the fabric of the pillow it was on. Yawning without restraint, the cat then turned its attention from Urahara (blissfully unaware, blissfully headbanging) to Rukia. The gaze from those golden yellow eyes was disconcerting, but Rukia already figured out that this was no ordinary cat. She could feel the suppressed reiatsu it was giving off.

"You must be Rukia Kuchiki," the cat said in a bass voice.

Rukia nodded at the cat.

"I am Yoruichi, by the way."

The name tugged something in her memory, but it swerved and dissolved before she could get a clean grasp of it. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Yoruichi-san," she said, keeping up with her noble customs and bowing her head a little. She had hazard a guess and decided to treat the cat as a noble. The name was no indication; she just trusted her 'noble' radar. It was something she had taught herself five months after she had been officially adopted into the Kuchiki clan. She had had a hard time differentiating the noble Kuchikis from the servant Kuchikis in the clan, and had to work through trial and error to manifest some kind of biological radar to discern if a person was a noble or a commoner. And in all the years she had used it, it never let her down. Though she began to suspect that she was getting rusty since there was no way a cat could be a noble. Unless, of course, it _wasn't_ a cat. As far as she knew, cats don't talk. It's common sense, after all.

"The same," Yoruichi replied, bowing its head as well. It then looked back at Urahara. "Kisuke! Rukia's here."

Urahara opened one eye, saw Rukia, and nodded at the cat, though Rukia couldn't be sure if it _was_ a nod or just another one of his headbanging. He removed the earphones and greeted, "Good afternoon, Kuchiki-san. Are you doing well?"

"I'm fine," she answered nonchalantly. "You said that you found something that might interest me."

"Yes, indeed." He paused awhile. "Though you'd have to thank Yoruichi-san for helping me find it in my littered library collection."

"It was no big deal," the cat said. "That is, if you don't take into account the utter mess his collection was in."

"It took us four whole days to arrange them all."

"Uh . . . just how many books do you have, Urahara?" Rukia asked.

"Hm? I never counted, but I guess it's in a five-digit number."

Rukia didn't even bother asking where he put all of them or how he escaped with them from Soul Society. Instead, she asked, "What did you find?"

"A journal," Urahara answered, "from the former 10th Division Captain, Takamiya-taichou."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Something was wrong here. She had only heard about Captain Takamiya's reputation in the Gotei 13, since he retired a century ago. No one knew where he went after that. "What's this captain's involvement with the Lückenhaft?"

"From what we understood in the first passages of the journal, he had discovered, he quoted, 'a new breed of Hollows.'"

"How did you come into possession of the journal?" Rukia asked suspiciously.

"Truthfully, I don't know. It had been in my collection when we started searching. How it came to be there is a mystery, but the information inside that journal has been invaluable to my research."

"But with good news comes the bad news," Yoruichi said. "The journal, unfortunately, is heavily damaged that barely a few of the surviving passages are complete, intelligible, or both. The damage wasn't from the result of age, termites—"

"I lost a lot of good books from those vile creatures," Urahara commented quietly.

"—or even fading ink. It had been damaged and unintelligible because it had already _been_ damaged and unintelligible. There were bloodstains on some of the pages, where Urahara concluded were over a decade old and were all from the same person: Takamiya-taichou. With the blood being only around a decade old, the journal must've been in Takamiya-taichou's possession until he slipped it into Urahara's collection."

"I have my theories on how it ended up in my Book Collection Box Number Forty-Four, though. Takamiya must have put it in that box when he had visited me last time, and right under my nose, too. He specifically chose that box just in case he forgot which one he had put it in. The number forty-four corresponds to both his lucky number and birth date, April Four."

"Though that leaves to question the reason why he chose this location for the safety of his journal," Yoruichi added its two cents.

"You have a point. This is not really a safe place for a journal, which, I will remind, is barely considered readable, for all intents and purposes. Yet again, I don't see the logic in his actions."

"It has always been that way with him." Yoruichi chuckled.

"What news did you learn about the Lückenhaft?" Rukia asked the man.

"A lot of things, I'm afraid," he answered as if he didn't like the words coming out of his own mouth. "Far more than I can imagine. Takamiya knew too much to become unnoticed for long. He must've either put it here for safekeeping or known that the 'noble' black-masked Hollows would find him soon and destroy all traces of his findings."

The thing that had been bugging Rukia finally came to light. It was one of those rare and mild 'Eureka!' moments. She understood that something was wrong in his story, but it was a bit insignificant to the gravity of the journal's informative pages. But she needed an answer to this shadow veiling the whole picture.

She narrowed her eyes and asked, "How does Takamiya-taichou know of you?" Urahara was supposed to be in hiding. Exiled from Soul Society, he shouldn't be having any visits from members of the Gotei 13 (former or current, it didn't matter). There was a hidden connection between Urahara and Takamiya, but did that have any relevance to the journal? Yes; she was sure there was.

Urahara looked stunned for a moment, then became silent, his eyes downcast. He looked to Yoruichi for guidance, but the cat was as lost as he was in handling this matter.

"What is it that you're not telling me, Urahara?" Rukia interrogated vehemently. She was rising from her pillow as both of her hands slammed on the table to follow through with her emotions. She knew she was being illogical in this situation; she needed to keep her flare of emotions in check, lest she does something dangerous and further push Urahara away from telling her the truth. The whole truth. Taking a deep breath, she once again donned the stoic Kuchiki persona. "Tell me everything. I _need_ to know."

Before their discussion made any fruitful progress, Tessai came into the room in a rush, yelling, "Manager! We have a problem."

In that moment, Rukia's cell phone began to beep.

* * *

Ichigo had been following Ishida ever since they left school. He had expected Orihime to request they should walk home together, but the girl hadn't. He didn't know her reason, but he welcomed her lack of presence. He would need it, after all.

Ishida had been walking for a good fifteen minutes before he abruptly stopped in the middle of an empty street. Ichigo made sure to hide behind the intersection they passed.

"Are you going to follow me until I reach my home, Ichigo Kurosaki?"

Ichigo winced. Busted.

"You're too easy to spot," Ishida said, turning to where Ichigo was hiding. "Your reiatsu's all over the place that I won't be surprised if it can be used as a homing beacon."

Ichigo stepped out from hiding, his hands buried inside his pants' front pockets. "We need to talk."

"If you wanted to talk, what was the point in hiding?"

"I figured you wouldn't be in the talking mood, so I followed you until you reach a less populated area."

"And take me by surprise," Ishida finished. He shook his head. "You're too full of yourself, thinking you can take me on with that kind of plan."

Ichigo resisted the urge to punch the guy's face for that remark. "As long as it gets you to talk, I don't need to question its supposed success."

"You can't take me by surprise, if at all, Ichigo Kurosaki."

How he _hated_ that condescending tone! Okay, okay . . . he must resist the urge . . . he must resist the urge . . .

"But you finding me took away the trouble of me finding you." Ishida reached for something in his chest pocket. "Let's have a contest."

Ichigo raised a brow. "A contest?"

The archer nodded. He showed Ichigo the object held between his thumb and forefinger. It looked like a pill in the shape of a coin. "In this world, shinigami are unnecessary. I will prove it through this."

"What's that?"

"If you agree to this contest, then I will tell you."

"All this just to prove that your kind is better than the shinigami? Look, man, I know that you have some kind of grudge against shinigami, but don't involve me in all this."

"That's right. I shouldn't be involving you . . . since you're not a real shinigami."

Ichigo's eyes widened.

"It was only through Rukia Kuchiki's powers that you were able to become a shinigami. Her temporary substitute, so to speak. But you and Rukia aren't the only shinigami, correct?"

Ichigo's fists clenched. He felt a rush of reiatsu in the air. The next thing he knew, spirit threads were appearing everywhere. He saw Ishida holding one thread that was colored red.

"A human's spiritual thread is white," he said, "while a shinigami's is red." The red thread could be traced back to Ichigo's body. Ishida ripped the thread as the air became lighter. Ichigo felt nothing from the tear. "Orihime Inoue's thread is also red. She's a shinigami as much as Rukia is. Why did you think I chose you instead of her for this fight?"

He didn't answer.

"If I were to fight her, you would've come and intervened. As it is, you are an obstacle I have to overcome. After I'm done with you, Orihime Inoue will be next."

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her!"

"Do you honestly think that I will follow your orders? I think not. Regardless, you have my word as a gentleman that I will not harm your girlfriend.

"I will just let her realize that she should go back to living as a human."

"What if I still refuse?" Ichigo asked defiantly, clearly ignoring the 'girlfriend' thing.

"Then I will force you to agree. If I can't fight you, then Orihime Inoue is the alternative."

His fists were shaking. The urge he felt turned from punch to beating the four-eyes into a bloody pulp. "I don't like your attitude one bit, Ishida."

"Like I care. It's your choice: You or Miss Inoue."

"Fine." Ichigo then grabbed something from his own chest pocket and swallowed it. The Mod Soul pill reacted quickly after ingestion, and he was immediately in shinigami form. "Kon, get to a safe distance," he ordered.

Kon nodded. "Sheesh . . . man, what a tense atmosphere," he murmured while backing away from the two.

"Is there any rules to this contest?" Ichigo asked the Quincy.

"Only two," he answered. "One, the contest will have a time limit of twenty-four hours. Two, the one with the most Hollow kills is the winner."

"So what is that thing you're holding _for_?"

"This is Hollow bait."

"What?" He couldn't believe his ears.

"Once I crush this little thing, Hollows will be swarming the city in an alarming rate. This won't be much of a contest if the contestants are limited to only a handful of Hollows within the time limit."

"What the hell, man? Don't you even know what you're about to do?" Ichigo took a step forward. "If you let those Hollows run loose in Karakura, then you're endangering many human lives for the sake of this contest."

"So?"

"SO?! This is just between you and me now! Leave everyone else out of it."

"Typical. You have already limited yourself as one of the weak ones. I assure you, Ichigo Kurosaki, that no human soul will be harmed during the contest." He paused, then crushed the pill in his hands. The particles scattered and dissolved. "Because I will eliminate every last Hollow."

Above, the sky began to crack.


	17. Princess and Dragon: Interlude I

Date written: 11/10/09 – 20/10/09

Posted on FanFiction: 21/10/09

A/N: I'll be shifting between the contest of Ichigo and Uryuu, and the awakening of the Shun Shun Rika. I already have a twist in mind, something you guys will not really expect. My inspiration of it came from Hellsing, and that's all you need to know.

Sadly though, I won't be putting any showtime for Chad's awakening. It'll be mentioned and such, but that's all. I want to end this project as quickly as possible; plus, I _really_ am anxious to start writing the training sessions and then the Soul Society arc. It's long overdue, to me.

Before I go, **Sdarian** was able to guess the name of Orihime's zanpakuto correctly. If you want to know, go see that review. Or if you want to see something more than just a name, I've included a link in my profile a side-view drawing I've made of the zanpakuto with its name included in the title. Either you don't want to be spoiled or you're so curious in finding out her name that you'll just jump at the opportunity, the drawing will definitely be there.

And lastly, this chapter is dedicated to my 'tomboy' friend, Maricel, whose birthday is today, might I add. Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 17 ---**

**Princess and Dragon: Interlude I**

Life went on for Tatsuki Arisawa. Ever since the memories of that night two months ago where she faced death in the eye even when she was only staring at an empty room with her best friend lying unconscious on the floor, ever since she started seeing blurs from practically everywhere she went, ever since the blurs manifested into more concrete and detailed humans with chains on their chests, ever since her best friend revealed that she had become a shinigami for roughly a month now, ever since . . . she felt this innate power dormant within her, life was no longer the same boring thing day in and day out.

For weeks, she had been trying to get a hold of this power, but most of her attempts ended up with nothing. Those few occasions where she pulled it off, she had been hit with a glimmer of strength, a benign feeling that she had pulled off from sheer chance than on purpose. The results were incredible. When she thought she would only see outlines of these 'ghosts' as time went on, she was wrong. For every time her luck gave her that opening to recapture even a millisecond of the intensity she felt from her dormant power, the outlines became blurs, the blurs became something like silhouettes behind a thick translucent glass, and then the silhouettes became solid matter. Spiritual matter, actually. No one but 'sensitive' people could see them.

But after touching that power for the fifth or sixth time, she hadn't been able to do it again. Tried as she might, there was nothing that could open the door to that dormant power. Her luck ran out, she supposed, but that didn't stop her from trying every morning and night to get that one-in-a-million chance again.

Tatsuki would admit that she found no reasonable purpose in breaching through that closed door other than two. One would have to be for Orihime. She wanted to help the girl if she could, and she just had this feeling in her gut that opening that door was the key. The other reason was for more personal reasons. Apart from the rush she felt whenever she tried to pry open the barriers erected from her innate power, she also felt very euphoric. It was close to what she felt when in an orgasm, but very different in subtle ways. The euphoria didn't come in waves, but one giant tsunami. It was also quick and sudden, like being prodded. The first time she tried to reach into the very depths of herself and encountered the barriers, she became very weak in the knees and almost shouted out from the immense pleasure coursing up and down her spine like an elongated fire hose going out of control from the torrent of water spewing out of its mouth. Needless to say, she grew almost addicted to the feeling by the fourth time. She only got prods for the most part, so there was no telling what would happen if those episodes were to lengthen into seconds or minutes. It was a scary thought, though. That level of pleasure might drive her insane.

_At least_, she thought,_ I didn't become a junkie. It stopped before my mind became dependent to it._ And Tatsuki was silently thankful for that.

A downside to this new 'sensitive' ability would have to be the ghosts. Not ghosts in general, but the ones who cast away their shame as if it was perfectly natural to be a perverted exhibitionist when you're one. She mostly ignored these spirits in her day-to-day activities, but her tolerance could only go so far. As of now, she had seen ghosts making out in spiritual public at least twice a day, a prankster ghost trying to moon random people in the streets, a perverted ghost peeking in the women's locker room (Tatsuki made sure to change away from that particular spirit), and a pair of ghosts having sex right in the middle of a busy road without a care to the world. She remembered that last one too vividly for her liking, and she was certain that people had been staring at her oddly, seeing that she was gawking at what would be nothing but air to them. It wasn't the act itself that disgusted her—she was curious about it, as all teenagers who haven't experienced it yet were—but the two partakers, who were moaning and shouting each other's names in sexual delight.

Tatsuki never looked at Yaoi comic books the same way again.

Despite what she wished not to happen, it happened anyway. Which was why she was sighing in exasperation at yet another ghost couple making out as if they were in their own private suite and not beside the Karakura High gymnasium. It wouldn't be long before they'd start screwing like rabbits and no one will be none the wiser than her . . . and Orihime, if she were here to see it. Come to think of it . . . maybe Tatsuki should keep that girl away from any ghost couple on the verge of wanting to satisfy their lust.

"Tatsuki-chan." Speak of the devil. At least the couple was shameful enough to try and do it on the gymnasium rooftop instead of here. Tatsuki just hoped that the woman was not a screamer.

"Yeah?"

Orihime took in a deep breathe through the nose. "Can we . . . talk for a minute?"

She nodded. There was still ten minutes of her break time before she had to go back and get some more practice done. The tournament was close, and the coach was going all-out on the women division's regimen. Tatsuki was lucky enough to be given a rather long break after being the first to complete the coach's exercises. The whole thing was tough, but she liked it.

Orihime led her to the walkway which leads to the entrance of the main building. She sat down on the edge of the elevated walkway and motioned for Tatsuki to do the same.

She could tell that Orihime was nervous about something. The way she would avert her gaze from hers. How she would rub on the knuckles of her right hand as if nursing them from a recent punch bruise. She let Orihime take her time to ask what she wanted to ask.

She heard faint moans coming from the rooftop, and it took all of her self-control not to sigh exasperatedly. Fortunately, Orihime was too busy with her own thoughts to hear it.

_Let's hope it stays that way_, she thought.

"Please don't get mad at me," Orihime said, still averting her gaze.

Tatsuki raised a brow. "Why would I get mad at you?"

"I don't think you would take the question well."

"Orihime," she said gently while putting a hand on the orange-haired girl's shoulder, "I'm your best friend. I won't go ballistic over a silly question."

"It's not a silly question," Orihime grumbled.

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I promise that I won't react too strongly, okay?"

Orihime seemed to have brightened up at her proclamation, but still hesitant in getting the question out. It took a few more seconds for her to take a deep breath . . . and say the four words that she never expected to be said.

"Do you like Ishida-kun?"

Processing information. Okay, she got the idea, but what the hell?!

"Eh?"

"Do you like—"

"EH?!!"

"Ah! You broke your promise." The girl pointed an accusing finger at her.

Tatsuki couldn't care less about breaking that small promise. I mean, her like _Ishida_?! The same Ishida in their classroom? The stoic and dismissive prick that seems to have some kind of superiority complex? _Uryuu_ Ishida?! Where the heck did Orihime get such an absurd idea?

"W—w—w—w—w—what are y—y—y—y—you—" Tatsuki cleared her throat, put a hand on her thumping chest, and took a deep breath. In and then out. In and then out.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked with a calm voice that contrasted with the bewildered side of her ego.

"It's just one of the theories I've been thinking up lately," Orihime replied, looking more relaxed now that Tatsuki had calmed down.

"Theories?"

"On why Ishida-kun hates me."

"Wait a minute. That stick-up prick hates you? Why?"

"I don't know, which is why I'm making theories. He never really told me the actual reason except that Kurosaki-kun and I have something in common that he hates more than anything in the world."

Tatsuki had a feeling she was exaggerating things a bit. "It must be the orange hair," she suggested.

Orihime shook her head. "I already thought of that, but I don't think Ishida-kun is the kind of person to judge people based on physical appearances."

"Other similarities would have to be your spiritual sensitivity and both being shinigami."

She shook her head again. "Ishida-kun might be a little sensitive to the presence of spirits, but I doubt that he'd see them, much less know that Kurosaki-kun and I are shinigami."

"If you say so. But I got nothing left to think of. Then again, how did I get involved in this in the first place?"

"You're the subject of my final theory, that's how."

"Huh?"

"It's simple if you think about it. What Kurosaki-kun and I have in common is having you as a best friend. And in that, I think Ishida-kun harbors feelings for you and is jealous of Kurosaki-kun's and my close relationship with you. He might be thinking along the lines of, 'Why can't I be as close as them?' and 'If only they were out of the way, then I can talk to her.'"

Tatsuki had trouble grasping that theory. It was farfetched, yes, but it had its firm level of possibility, albeit small as it was. She never took notice of Ishida's actions at all, so she couldn't prove to Orihime right now that the bespectacled teenager has no interest in a girl like her. She could only be relieved by knowing that Orihime's theory was just a theory and not true fact. If it was, then she didn't know what to think of it or how to respond to the guy's affection, and . . . okay, _why_ was she even _considering_ it?

Shaking the ominous thoughts out, lest they lead her to a path destined for heartache, Tatsuki closed Orihime's mouth as the girl went into full detail over her 'like-to-love' theory. The concept alone was enough to give Tatsuki a headache.

"Is this why you were so airheaded this morning?" That was a question with omitted words. Tatsuki didn't want to add that she was acting more airheaded than usual that morning.

Orihime nodded. "Yes. I was afraid to ask back then, but I still wanted to know about what you think of Ishida-kun."

She snorted. "Like I'd fall for a snob who hates my best friends. And you still haven't told me how you came to the conclusion that I like the guy."

"From your names."

"Our names?" _Does she mean . . . ?_

"Yeah, your names. Both you and Ishida-kun have the kanji for 'dragon' in your names, correct?"

_Yup, she means _that_._ "And because we have such a connection with our names that there is a chance that we're very compatible with each other, is that what you were thinking of?"

She nodded with vigor. "Yup. You got it."

Tatsuki sighed. "Orihi—"

A powerful noise erupted nearby, sounding like glass shattering.

Tatsuki stood as quick as the sound died down. From the distance, she could hear someone shouting that the school windows have all broken.

"Tatsuki-chan."

She eyed Orihime, trying to discern the layers of emotion coming across her features. "I don't know what's going on," she told her, "but I'm going to find out."

"I'll come with you."

Tatsuki nodded, and they both rushed towards the courtyard of the school. She didn't notice Orihime falter in her steps and glanced at the sky above. If she had, she would've seen the darkness spreading like spilled oil.

* * *

"Oh my, oh my," Urahara murmured as he gazed upon the shadowy visage of the afternoon sky. He had always regarded that heavenly body as a place of tranquil and peace, rage, and also sadness. The know-how of human emotions is as mysterious to figure out as that of the weather, and that is how it intrigued him so, like solving an unsolvable puzzle. Not only can it be frustrating, it also gives him a challenge in the dull world he had been living for the past century. But it seemed that with the appearance of the substitute shinigami, Ichigo Kurosaki, things were more hectic and livelier than before.

"Is that what I think it is, Manager?"

"Yes, Tessai, that's also what I'm thinking." He watched as the sky mimicked the color of tar and the shape of an eye. It was as hollow-looking as the creatures coming out of its cracks. "Someone used a very powerful Hollow bait."

"Aren't those supposed to be banned?" Yoruichi wondered.

"In Soul Society, yes," Urahara answered, looking away from the spectacle to Rukia, "if my sources are correct."

Rukia nodded at him. Her phone began to beep again, and she groaned.

She didn't know how amused Urahara was when she decided to turn off the device completely. "But outside of Soul Society," he continued, "anyone can make and utilize the bait."

"It's still out of control, though," Yoruichi commented. "The townsfolk will no doubt be harmed if nobody takes action."

"Right, you are, Yoruichi-san. Right, you are." He clapped his hands twice. "All right! Roll-call!"

"Jinta, here!" the boy exclaimed as he slung his paddle on his back.

"Ururu, reporting for duty," she said shyly, emphasizing her point with a military-esque salute. The wrapped-up coffin-shaped object was next to her, ready for deployment.

"Tessai, ready and willing." He only stood there without any dramatic movements.

"Everyone knows what to do?" Urahara asked, and he received a choir of 'Yessir!' in response. He almost swelled in pride at their synchronicity; it took him weeks to teach them to be as responsive and snappy as they were now. Not exactly enough to be considered as a formidable group of freedom fighters, but it was close. Quite close for his liking, that is.

"Need any help?" Yoruichi asked.

"No, that's quite all right. What would I be if I let you handle this little matter?"

Yoruichi chuckled. "I understand."

"Will you be joining us, Kuchiki-san?" He was smiling while he asked.

"To where?" she asked back, her fists clenched and her gaze solely at the widening crack inside the ominous eye of the sky.

"To the source of this predicament."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm cleaning this up!" a woman yelled to the heavens. "And I didn't even do anything to deserve it, too."

"Will you pipe down already?" Tatsuki said to her. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go home."

Fortunately for Tatsuki, clubs had been ended prematurely due to the ruckus that occurred earlier. She didn't know the specifics, but the gist of it was that all the windows of the school building were shattered by some unknown cause. The teachers who were still in the building placated the startled group of students gathered in the courtyard that it was all the work of hoodlums vandalizing their school. This action created more panic than calm, but Tatsuki didn't listen to what other excuses the teachers had in store for them. What had mattered to her at the time was the true cause and how it came into effect without anyone seeing a single person leaving the school premises. If what the teachers had theorized (she thought of this lightly because it seemed the teachers were as doubtful to their own explanations as she was) had some grain of truth, then there should be witness. A passing student, a teacher walking the corridors, anyone in the school grounds. Yet it seemed as if the perpetrator had done it like a ghost.

"That's easy for you to say, tomboy," the woman replied. "You don't mind getting all down and dirty like a man. Oh, how I hate those teachers forcing Hime and I to do this all by ourselves."

"We're not the only ones doing the cleaning, you know." Tatsuki gestured towards the other students who were also cleaning up the shards of glass littering the courtyard. After the teachers had settled down the situation somewhat, they ordered everyone to start cleaning up even if they were not at fault. That pretty much summed up the reason for club activities ending early. Except for the basketball club, though. The varsity team was still practicing as Tatsuki swept glass off the cemented ground; the junior varsities were stuck cleaning up like the rest. With Kagine as their coach, she couldn't blame them as they mumbled agreements that the guy was treating them unfairly while pampering the starting five.

_Well_, Tatsuki thought, _it at least beats practice._

"I know, but still—"

"Just shut up and get back to work!" Tatsuki snapped, turning a few heads at her general direction. She didn't care. She had had enough of Chizuru's whining to last her a lifetime. Not to mention that she kept on eyeing Orihime like a predator out for blood, though in this case it was more like a predator wanting to sedate its lust. Tatsuki made sure that the lesbian cleaned up the mess far away from Orihime's vicinity.

Chizuru ignored Tatsuki and settled to double her ire. "Oh Hime!"

_Mother of . . ._ Tatsuki was on her last thread of patience. If she were to keep that horny bitch under a leash one more time . . . she will not be held responsible for any permanent damage the target might have.

Then she felt it. A change in the air. Heaviness. The air felt like it was stuffed with invisible smoke. A sound of thunder, like a roar magnified by the echoing walls of a cave.

There was ringing in her ears but that didn't stop her eyes from witnessing the fall. One by one, students moved as if they had been struck somewhere on their body, and fell to the ground without cushioning their fall. They all dropped dead, so to speak. And they were bleeding, too. Not blood, but something slimy and green, and it was spreading like from a deep wound.

"Tatsuki-chan!"

Orihime tackled her to the ground, just before she saw something blurred past her vision like a flying mosquito. It hit the ground the same way she and Orihime did: loud and painful, except it splattered not thudded.

Tatsuki pain wrap around her consciousness as the fall hit her head pretty hard against the cement. She blinked a few times, and assessed her best friend's state. Orihime was already standing up and looking up to the sky—no, she was looking at the roof of the school building.

"Orihime, what—"

"_Shhh!_" she replied vehemently. She looked at her left, then her right, all while her eyes showed Tatsuki the state of a person that was in the brink of a mental breakdown. Orihime was not one to panic so emotionally and actively, and this behavior was what disturbed Tatsuki. Not the air, not the thunder, not the bullet-like object that splattered beside them. It was seeing Orihime getting hysterical.

Whatever words she wanted to tell Orihime while she lay there with a fair amount of grain-sized shards poking on her back like a bed of nails, they disappeared almost entirely when she saw her schoolmates standing up in zombie fashion. It unnerved her, to say the least, though she couldn't state the reason why so. It was more of an instinct aware of imminent and lethal danger close by.

Orihime grabbed her hand, only for someone to grab Orihime's wrist with a painful amount of pressure. She heard her yelp from the pain, and when they both looked at that someone, they realized it was Chizuru. Tatsuki was about to call her name to see if it would snap her out of whatever the heck she was doing, but one look at her glazed eyes made Tatsuki open her mouth but did not let out the words. They died out as soon as she saw those eyes. And what made things worse was that on Chizuru's shoulder was a dark green stain.

"Chi—Chizuru-chan?" Orihime's eyes were wide.

Tatsuki sat up quickly and slapped Chizuru's hand away from Orihime. She then took Orihime by the wrist and dragged both of them towards the exit. One of the students they were about to pass had his leg stuck out, ready to trip anyone, and while Tatsuki was perceptive enough to hurdle over it, Orihime wasn't. She lost her grip, and Orihime tumbled to the ground. The zombie students were then ganging up on her.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Tatsuki shouted as she punched a random student in the face, uppercut a female on her right flank, hooked another on her left, and kicked a guy in the balls when he grabbed Orihime's head.

"Tatsuki-chan!" She was asking for help, and Tatsuki was willing to deliver every blow she had in her arsenal to be sure that she would be safe.

She used every skill, every kick, every punch she had learned in her past lessons of Karate. Some of her moves were a form of streetfighting, a style she had honed during her elementary years, but it was flawed and only useful for powerful and down-for-the-count strikes. Its weakness was defense, but it was not Karate's. She dealt all the punches and kicks she could to clear a path, and she didn't hold anything back. She somehow knew that it would do no good to suppress her attacks because she didn't want to hurt her schoolmates too badly. The problem there was that these students out for her and Orihime were not in their right state of minds. Tatsuki blamed it on the green stains visible in various body parts of each student. She didn't know what it was, but theorized that it might be some kind of mind-controlling _something_. Whatever that _something_ was would have to wait. Her top priority would have to be escaping the school with Orihime.

When at last she pushed back enough of the zombies, she grabbed Orihime again and led her towards the school gates.

She felt pain on her shoulder. Without her control, her right arm suddenly backhanded Orihime in the face. The girl dropped to the ground, looking at her in shock. Realizing what she had done, Tatsuki tried to move and comfort Orihime but there was no response in her body. It was moving differently than how she intended it to. And when she glanced at her pained shoulder, there was something green splattered on her karategi (_**tr.**_ Karate Uniform). On the center of the stain was a hole on the fabric, and a bud-shaped object protruding from it.

Tatsuki was nearing Orihime, who was touching the spot where she had hit her. "Orihime, run!"

Orihime opened her mouth—

"Just go! I can't control my body . . ." Tatsuki resisted walking any closer to her best friend. Her shoulder stung in waves of pain that felt like having a hot poker sliding inside the back of her clavicle. "Hurry!"

"It is pointless," someone said. "No one has ever escaped from me."

Tatsuki's body took a step forward, getting much closer to Orihime. She looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"You're not going to shout anything like 'Come out' or 'Who's there'? My, my, my."

"It's hard enough to . . ." Tatsuki paused, took a deep breath, "talk when . . . you're in pain and having no control over . . . your own body." She took a step forward.

"I will congratulate you on your powerful will, human. I seldom find prey that needs an extra 'kick' out of my seeds."

Looking up, Tatsuki spotted a monster that looked like a cross between an octopus and a jellyfish, floating. It had a white mask etched into its face, while slit, yellow eyes glared at Tatsuki from the two eyeholes.

"It will be the last praise you'll ever hear," it said before swinging one of its tentacles. Something burst out of it like a slingshot pellet, and it hit Tatsuki in the chest.

The monster laughed.

_Ori . . . hime . . ._

Her tunnel vision worsened. She saw Orihime stood up. Running towards her.

_No . . . run . . . run . . ._

Her hands clenched into fist. When Orihime was close, she quickly hit her with straight punch in her abdomen. Orihime reeled back, coughing saliva.

_No . . . please . . . don't let me do this . . . Orihime . . . Orihime . . . no . . ._

Wet. Something wet was forming in her eyes, clouding her vision. She grabbed Orihime's neck, applying pressure.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no . . ._

Orihime was crying. "Tatsuki-chan," she whispered.

The monster still laughed.

_Orihime . . . Orihime . . . ORIHIME!!!_

* * *

Orihime couldn't breathe. She tried to loosen the grip of Tatsuki's hands from her neck but to no use. Tears were forming in her eyes when she saw Tatsuki's own tears. Tatsuki didn't want to do this; she would never do this.

"Tatsuki-chan," she whispered, not really aware of actually saying it. She was only thinking of the pain on her stomach, the need to breathe, and the tears.

Slowly the grip loosened, but Orihime didn't act upon it immediately. Tatsuki pushed her down. She landed on her butt as she coughed a few more times while holding onto her sore stomach. She had almost vomited her lunch when Tatsuki had punched her, but she sucked it up and swallowed whatever puke that had come to her throat.

Tatsuki was resisting the control, Orihime was sure of this. Her whisper had been enough to give Tatsuki the strength to give Orihime an opening. An opening for what? Escape or retaliation? Orihime wasn't sure, and she didn't like either. She didn't want to leave her best friend behind nor did she want to hit her. There was a difference when it came to Orihime hitting her best friend. Tatsuki was not in control of her body (she realized that when she saw the glazed look in her eyes), while Orihime was in control of her own. That would mean Orihime was voluntarily hurting her friend, and she didn't want that. She didn't want to do that.

Escape was a wise move, it should be, yet it also seemed like the coward's way out. The gate was unguarded and only some feet away. If she hurried, she might be able to cut the corner before the others or the octopus Hollow would react. Though, she wasn't sure about her speed. Her stomach still ached, and she was still out of breath from being strangled.

What should she do?

"Are you watching this, Master?" she heard the Hollow shout. "I'm a good girl, so please play with me later after this, please, my Master?"

Orihime didn't know what to do, didn't know how to act. She had always relied on Tatsuki to save her from bullies and the like since she was small. She never stood up on her own. Whenever she would face a Hollow, she would always think 'What would Tatsuki-chan do?' or 'What would Kurosaki-kun do?' There was never any of her own strength to fuel her resolve. All of it was borrowed, because when it boiled down to the bare essentials, Orihime knew that she had no strength to offer her resolve. Whatever she could offer would only be blind belief in something that didn't even exist in the first place. Strength is potential born within a person. She had no such potential. She was certain of this. Very certain. She could defeat Hollows because it was a gift (or strength) given to her by the kimono woman. She learned to be firm and steady because it was something Tatsuki drilled into her during their Karate lessons. And she learned to see underneath the mask because of Ichigo. All strengths in their own way, and none of them were her own.

_But . . ._

With great effort, she stood up, the zombie students limping towards her.

_I need strength. My own strength. Tatsuki-chan needs me._

She took a step forward, and using that as momentum, dashed the rest of the way.

_Tatsuki-chan always protected me. It was a promise she made back then. But . . ._

Orihime tripped, but steadied herself before she fell.

_I need my own strength to protect her this time. I need it._

She hugged Tatsuki. The latter didn't react.

_Please . . . let me be the protector this time._

There was a flash of light, a rush of air.

Orihime felt the side fringes of her hair fall, as if her hairpins were somehow removed. Spotting something wheeze by from above, Orihime glanced up and saw six flying objects looking like miniature gliders. One of them, red- and yellow-colored, swooped down to her eye level. She then thought wrong of thinking that they looked like gliders. The two protruding shapes she saw from their sides were actually wings, and the one that flew next to her face was a human half the size of a Barbie doll. It looked more like a pixie like Tinkerbell. It was definitely female, too. Its bleach blonde hair wrapped in a high ponytail while the red and black clothing was closely wrapped in a red cloak that split itself into two equal halves behind her, acting like pseudo-wings.

With its eyes narrowed like a mischievous fox, the pixie said to her, "We are here to serve, Orihime-sama."

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

Some of you may be wondering about the title, some of you may not be. This chapter title has already been used in the manga, too. Anyway, Tatsuki's name (竜貴) uses the kanji for 'dragon,' hence the title since Orihime's name uses the kanji for 'princess.' I would've figured dragon to be 'ryuu' or 'ryou,' but apparently there's another name for it, which is 'tatsu.' I now wonder if the Japanese classify each name with a different kind of dragon. Hmm . . .

And before you start asking me if I'm planning on a Tatsuki/Uryuu pairing, let me tell you this: I don't know how I'll go with relationships outside the main one (IchiHime, obviously). I've always been a sucker with non-canon/unusual/less-popular pairings. In Harry Potter, I prefer Harry/Hermione and Harry/Luna (Heck, even a threesome would be okay for me) than Harry-Ginny. In Bleach, I prefer Ichigo/Orihime and Ichigo/Tatsuki (Heck, even a threesome would be okay for me) than the very popular Ichigo/Rukia. In Naruto, I prefer Naruto/Temari, Naruto/Sakura, Naruto/Hinata (Heck, even a _four_some would be okay for me), Kakashi/Kurenai (Not compatible, you say? I don't care; I just think they're cute together), and Sasuke/Hinata (I always wondered what their kids would be like. Byakuringan, or something). People have their own preferred tastes.


	18. Princess and Dragon: Interlude II

Date written: 27/10/09 – 01 /11/09

Posted on FanFiction: 03/11/09

A/N: It feels like this whole chapter is dialogue-driven. Well, it's an introductory chapter more or less, and it's good filler for the cliffhanger I wanted to put in. (I feel bad about the filler part, though) I'm making this one straightforward because it's time to speed things up, although the characterization of the fairies is still a priority on my part. Personally, I don't think that this is my best writing. It feels choppy and more of dialogue than prose. It's either that or my mind is too preoccupied on a Naruto plot bunny hopping all over in my muse's room. God, the concept just won't rest!

Anyway, let me make this quite clear right here, right now. You _will_ notice some differences from the canon Shun Shun Rika and my version of the Shun Shun Rika. I didn't want them to be the same because I wanted them to have a different origin in mind. **Sdarian** told me something about the fairies in a different perspective and I haven't thought of it that way. **Sdarian** says, I quote, "While her developing the powers to begin with is one thing, I really feel that spiritual power like theirs would fall into "path of least resistance" type of things. The normal shinigami don't have powers like hers or Chad's because they are learning shinigami arts, so all build up of reiatsu would be channeled into that." An insightful observance but I personally feel that Orihime having the Shun Shun Rika should have a proper basis rather than being a latent reiatsu channel device that can do the utterly impossible: Bend reality. This gives her powers that are on match to those of a god of 'banishment,' so to speak, and though Tite Kubo might have his own reasons for giving Orihime this amazing but _still latent_ gift in the series, I suspect that there is a deeper origin to it. That's my own opinion, which I have implemented into the storyline long ago. I was just tossing and turning the idea around at first because I was a little . . . apprehensive that I was turning Orihime into an über-character, but I was able to turn it into a good plot device for the sequel. At least I think it's good. And their role in the story will expand in Interlude III.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 18 ---**

**Princess and Dragon: Interlude II**

"_Come on," she called as they climbed up the hill._

"_I'm coming on my own pace," he replied, a little less enthusiastic than his companion. When he caught up with her, he said, "And please be careful. You're in no condition to overwork yourself. You might hurt the little one."_

_The woman patted her swelling belly, and said, "My kid's a tough one. I'm sure he or she will be fine."_

And they call _me_ the irresponsible one in the relationship_, he thought, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure it's a 'she,' though."_

"_How would you know? I didn't get an ultrasound yet."_

"_Just a gut feeling I have."_

"_You go with your gut feelings all the time, dear." She hit his arm playfully, then looked back at the top of the hill. "We're almost there."_

_Getting to the top of this particular hill wouldn't be much of an enduring task if you had the sun for illumination and the dirt path pointing you to its general direction. The way they found the hill and climbed it had none of those, so the man thought that the both of them should at least have some credit for finding the illusive thing in the middle of the night. And what he meant by illusive, he meant that the hill was situated in a clearing of a vast forest. The only reason they wouldn't completely get lost was that he knew the layout of the forest like it was the palm of his hand, but that was only during daytime. Nighttime showed a different side of the same view, and it took twice as long for them to get to the hill._

_Before his wife thought of going to their favorite spot on this hill, they were enjoying themselves in the Tanabata festival near it. She said she wanted to talk to him about something private, so they went there, even if he seemed hesitant to go to their spot in the middle of the night._

_He saw his wife sitting down on the base of the tree. "You're gonna get your yukata dirty."_

"_I don't mind. My stamina isn't up to par while I'm like this." She looked at her stomach. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know that?"_

_He already knew she was only teasing, so he decided to have some fun as well. "Not yet even born and the kid's already ignited your short fuse. We might have a problem child on our hands."_

"_You don't want to raise our child anymore?" She raised her eyebrow at him while showing a lopsided smile._

_He didn't take the bait. "What, are you kidding? Having a problem child will make parenting more fun?"_

"_And more stressful, and more annoying, and more troubles in our hands, and more visits to the principal's office than the average, and more—"_

"_That's not a problem child. That's a delinquent."_

_They bantered for a few more minutes before deciding to stay silent and watch the stars. The heavenly bodies were bright and distinct. Not long after their silence, the man wrapped her left hand into his right. They smiled at each other, squeezing their held hands tighter. Most couples communicate with words and gestures, but these two were content with eye contact and subtle lip movements. It was unorthodox to some, as a nonverbal communication, but its effectiveness was all that mattered. And it had always done wonders; it also made them feel much closer to each other. If there was a level of love much higher than 'lovers,' then they might have already ascended to it. _

"_What are you thinking?" the woman asked, gazing on one of the many constellations of the Milky Way. _

"_Nothing important," he answered. "Mostly life, in general."_

"_Like?"_

"_A name for the baby, for one. We still haven't decided on it."_

"_We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl, yet."_

"_How about a unisex name?"_

"_Nah, that makes me feel lazy. I want our child's name to be special . . . almost like how special this day and this place are."_

_He understood what she was talking about. Today was not only Tanabata for them. It was also the day they first met. This favorite spot of theirs was even the place where he had asked for her hand in marriage, which was also on Tanabata, one exact year after their meeting. He wanted to comment on it, but decided not to. Just the nostalgia was enough to perfect his remembrance of this very special day and place. Words weren't always needed, he supposed._

"_All right, I've decided on the baby's name," she announced._

"_Don't I get a say in this?" he asked. When she struggled to stand back up, he helped her out. He watched as she walked across the hill. Cold wind traveled towards their right, and he had the chance to marvel his wife's long dirty blonde locks swept by the gust. He suddenly had the urge to make love to her, but pushed it down. There would be plenty of that _after_ she gave birth, which was less than two months away._

"_Remember that bet we had earlier?"_

"_Yeah." It was an embarrassing event, but he remembered her winning it._

"_Winner gets to order anything she wants to the loser, was the criteria, right?"_

"_Yeah." He didn't like where this was going._

"_I'm cashing it in. I order you to let me name our kid."_

"_Hey! That's not fair."_

_She gave him 'The Look.'_

"_But—"_

'_The Look' got fiercer._

"_I—"_

Much_ fiercer._

" _. . . yes, dear," he whispered dejectedly. He always lost when it came to being given 'The Look.' It was a secret weapon she rarely used, but the disaster it brought upon him spoke volumes of its success._

"_Don't worry. I'm sure you'll love it."_

"_Oh really?"_

"_But just to be fair with you, seeing that you're rooting so much for it to be a girl, I'll decide on the name for a boy. You'll name it if it's a girl."_

_The man cocked an eyebrow. "That . . . seems reasonable. This isn't a dream, is it?"_

"_You talk as if I'm always unfair to you."_

_The man didn't reply._

"_Hey!"_

"_No comment," he deadpanned._

"_Jerk," she muttered._

"_So, the name?"_

"_I've been thinking a lot about it. We met during the summer, right?"_

_The man nodded. "This very same day, three years ago."_

"_I didn't think that we'd end up together at all back then."_

"_Any regrets?"_

_She shook her head. "None. And that's why I want our child to be the symbol of how our fates have been tied together. Natsuhiko (__**tr.**__ Summer boy). The summer of our meeting."_

"_I like it," he said after a moment's pause._

_She smiled. "Any ideas for a girl's name?" she asked._

_The man thought it over while looking at the distant stars. Naming a child was difficult, and he had been juggling around with many different names during the past few weeks. Most of them were girl names because that was he was hoping the child was. But in the happy side of things, there was always a dark and ulterior side. During those moments where he wished that their child would be a girl, he felt like he was trying to replace the family he once had all those years ago—a loving wife and a dazzling daughter—the same family he had lost and never met again because of something he could not control. But one look at the stars and he knew that things would be different. Tragedy would not strike him and his new family this time. He swore on it._

_The woman called his name in concern, and he quickly assured her that he was just pondering over a name._

"_You shouldn't force yourself," she said. "The name will come to you in time."_

_But she was wrong. He already thought of a name. One that would also remind them of their fated meeting. "Actually, I already thought of one."_

_She waited for him to continue._

"_I have this great suspicion that you derived your choice of a name from Hikoboshi."_

_The woman shrugged, though the wry lopsided smile was clearly on her lips. It made her look undoubtedly cute, too._

"_So how about we give a similar name to a girl? Our own little princess."_

_The woman giggled, catching on to what name he was thinking. "I like it. It's really fitting, wouldn't you say?"_

"_She'll be pampered like an actual princess."_

"_Not while I'm around, though. Spoiling a child is a grandparent's role, not ours, you know."_

"_I know. But still, you can't stop me from giving her what she wants."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Right," she drawled._

_He laughed and then hugged her. His hand reached for the swelling belly of his wife, and he rubbed it with gentle strokes. "The symbol of our love. Natsuhiko for a boy and—"_

"Orihime-sama?"

"—_Orihime for a girl."_

"Orihime-sama, snap out of it!"

* * *

"Heh?" Orihime looked around, a little dazed. She shook her head to cast out the lingering drowsiness, but what she had seen stayed. Was it a vision, a glimpse of the past? The faces of the two people were too blurry for her to discern their features, except for the woman—_was that my mother?_—whom she knew had long, dirty blonde hair.

"Orihime-sama!"

The pixie was floating right next to her face, waving her arms exaggeratedly as if signaling someone from far away. Her slit eyes were gazing at her with concern, though Orihime was bewildered on how she knew this. When the pixie had gotten her attention, she motioned for the others to come closer.

Orihime took a deep breath, her heart beating in a presto tempo. "Who are you?"

One of the remaining pixies, the one that was wearing mostly black, scoffed. He had his arms folded together in front of his chest; his scowl looked to be a permanent form on his face. The crimson scarf wrapped around his neck and jaw covered the lower half of his face and clavicle. His raven hair sported a spiky flattop style, which kind of reminded her of a fictional character in an old fighting game using the Chinese martial arts Bajiquan.

"Don't speak as if we're some strange specimen, woman," he said. "It pisses the hell out of me."

"Tsubaki! There's no need to be condescending to her," the fox-faced pixie said. "She doesn't even know about us."

"Hmph. And what do you expect me—or the rest of us—to do? Hold her hand while you guide her in using our powers?"

"Tsubaki . . ."

"This _woman_"—he spat the word venomously, while pointing an accusing finger at Orihime—"is unfit to use us. Even if she called on us, there is no way that I will kneel to her as if she were my queen."

The first pixie sighed. She glanced at the others, but they were stoic and unresponsive. They didn't want to be caught in the middle of the two's quarrel, from what Orihime could observe, and why did she have the nagging feeling that their arguments happened more often than she could guess?

"But we still have to obey her," foxy pixie replied. "We were created to protect her."

"No," he rebuffed. "We were created to protect someone else. Not her. Never her."

"But Orihime-sama is still—"

"I will not acknowledge her as my master until she grows a freakin' backbone!"

"Excuse me, you two younguns," one of the older pixies, a purple jumpsuit-wearing individual with a monocle, interrupted. His accent was a little hard to understand, but Orihime had met a foreigner who speaks Japanese just like him. The older pixie had a deep British accent. "I don't mean to interrupt a lover's quarrel, but . . ." He pointed at the hovering Hollow. ". . . we must fulfill our duty."

Tsubaki growled at the Hollow. "Typical piece of Hollow crap, huh. Yet _princess_ over there needs our help killing it. Pathetic."

Orihime's felt like she had been stabbed by that remark.

"The rest of you can do whatever the hell you want, but I'm—"

"Helping Orihime-sama alongside us," foxy pixie interrupted, the laid-back tone of her voice replaced with the seriousness of a very strict teacher in detention mode. "End of discussion."

"Hah! Fat chance. With her as my focus point, I'd be lucky to be in one piece when she shoots."

"Then the world will be a lot better with one less Tsubaki around."

"Bitch," he muttered, though Orihime and possibly the other pixies still heard him.

"If you don't help, then you're breaking Sora-sama's promise."

"Sora?" Orihime repeated in a very hushed tone that it seemed like she only mouthed the name. Her eyes were wide and her breath was caught in her throat. _Do they know anything about Onii-chan? But . . . what promise are they talking about?_

The foxy pixie's statement, however, had a similar effect on Tsubaki. Instead of making a witty reply—which Orihime had thought he'd do—he dropped his arms from their folded position and glared heatedly at his companion. He then looked towards Orihime with that same glare. Orihime wanted to get as far away from him as possible, even though she easily towered him tenfold.

"All right," the black pixie said to her. "I'll let you use me just this once"—he cast a meaningful glance at the foxy pixie—"if only to fulfill the wishes of our creator."

"Orihime-sama is partially our creator as well, Tsubaki."

"Don't make me take back my help." That seemed to be the end of the discussion because he floated away to brood alone.

"Don't mind him, Orihime-sama. It takes a while for anyone to get close to him."

Orihime nodded dumbly, unsure how to proceed in this little predicament.

"Well, I guess some introductions are in order. My name is Shun'uo, by the way, and I'm more or less the pseudo-leader of the group. We're known as Shun Shun Rikka (_**tr.**_ Six Flowers of the Hibiscus Shield)."

"So lead us to death, Captain Bitch!" Tsubaki taunted.

Shun'uo's slit eye began to twitch. "Again, ignore Tsubaki."

Shun'uo gestured for the others to come closer. Another pixie, a female wearing a pink long-sleeved kimono, floated beside Shun'uo. She also had a hovering red overcoat with yellow square markings covering her like an umbrella. In the exterior, the pixie looked almost indifferent to everything, but the blush in her cheeks contradicted that observance. If Orihime was right, then this girl was trying to be strong and assertive even though inside she was afraid and timid.

"This is my partner, Ayame," Shun'uo said, prompting Ayame to take a deep bow of respect. "She rarely speaks."

"Nice to meet you," Orihime greeted.

Ayame's face flushed beet red. She nodded, acknowledging Orihime's greeting, and looked away. Orihime's observance was right on the mark, it seemed.

"The bald English guy"—Shun'uo motioned her hand at the jumpsuit wearing pixie with the monocle—"is named Hinagiku. The big guy is named Baigon, and the one in the skimpy blue one-piece is Lily."

Lily yelped. "It's not skimpy!"

Shun'uo ignored her, and continued, "And we're more or less your guardian angels."

"Shun'uo-san," Hinagiku said, "we don't have much time left."

"Oh! Right." She nodded at him, then turned back to Orihime. "Listen, Orihime-sama, you need to use us in order to survive."

For the first time since these pixies appeared into thin air, Orihime checked her surroundings. From the powerful rush of wind she had felt earlier, she had expected that some might have been swept away (though she felt it was just wishful thinking), but nothing could prepare her from the sight she saw. The Hollow from above was not out of the ordinary, but she had failed to notice the predicament her schoolmates were in. It looked like she was staring at a still life portrait because it was just impossible to comprehend. Her classmates were being swept away by the wind but seemed to be only half-finished.

Everything was in a pause, as if time had literally stopped for everyone except her and the pixies.

"Surprised?" Shun'uo asked, sensing Orihime's shocked expression. "Don't be. Each of us has a very unique trait that can only be accessed within special conditions. In this case, Baigon can delay time to a certain limit, at least only enough to recuperate and strategize the next move."

"Too late," Tsubaki said, gazing at the Hollow. The flow of the wind reached Orihime's ears. The Hollow moved. The students continued getting thrown by the wind, and fall unceremoniously to the hard cemented ground. "It has already started."

Along with time, as well.

"Incredible," the Hollow uttered. "This reiatsu is too potent for a normal human to have. Just . . . what _are_ you?"

"Get ready," Tsubaki said to Orihime. "The Hollow's about to attack."

"Hmm . . ." the Hollow looked pondering for a moment, then said, "Master seems to have taken an interest in you, little girl. Too bad you'll be nothing more than a mindless drone after I'm done with you."

"Call our names, Orihime-sama, and say the incantation," Hinagiku said, hovering in front of Orihime.

"Repeat after me," Shun'uo said to her. " 'Hinagiku, Baigon, Lily. Santen Kesshun (_**tr.**_ Three Sacred Links Shield), I reject!'"

Orihime breathed in, then out. The Hollow shot three giant seeds at her. Orihime clenched her fists, concentrated on the feel of her reishi, then said, "Hinagiku, Baigon, Lily. Santen Kesshun, I reject!"

She felt a drain in her spiritual reserves when the three pixies formed a big inverted triangle, which shielded her from the Hollow's long ranged attack.

"What?!" the Hollow exclaimed. "Impossible."

"Their power is to reject things outside the shield," Shun'uo informed. "In other words, they are your absolute defense against enemies. _Our_ power, however,"—she motioned to herself and Ayame—"is to reject things _inside_ the shield. Our power grants us the ability to negate the effects of an object inside the shield by rejecting its causes."

"Negate the effects? Reject its causes? Eh?"

"In layman's terms, we bring back things within the shield to a state where the damages are nonexistent.

"Let's use it on Tatsuki-sama right away."

Not exactly understanding how their powers worked, Orihime nodded anyway.

"Repeat after me: 'Shun'uo, Ayame. Souten Kisshun (_**tr.**_ Twin Sacred Return Shield), I reject!'"

Orihime repeated the incantation. Shun'uo and Ayame hovered over Tatsuki's prone form and created an elliptical shield which created a sort of dome trapping Tatsuki inside. Before Orihime realized it, Tatsuki's wounds were beginning to heal.

"Tatsuki-chan," she whispered. She was quite close to crying tears of joy and relief.

"Don't think it's over, woman," Tsubaki said. "The triplets are impenetrable, the twins are natural healers, but how will you fare with me? Listen, woman, I'm only giving you this one chance to prove to me that you have the right to use me in battle. If you fail, then don't bother calling for me again.

"My power is rejecting both sides of the shield. I put up a shield inside the enemy and reject their physical bonds. In other words, I cut all of our enemies in half.

"All right! Let's get this party started. Repeat after me: 'Tsubaki. Koten Zanshun (_**tr.**_ Solitary Sacred Cutting Shield), I reject.'"

Orihime repeated it. When the last syllable of her chant came to Tsubaki's ears, he shot out like a bullet straight towards the Hollow. The black pixie pierced into the Hollow's armor, and within a second a flash of light marked the Hollow symmetrically. When Tsubaki came out of the octopus Hollow's back, it was already severed in half.

"M—Mas—" the Hollow choked before disintegrating completely.

"I did it." Orihime's muscles relaxed. "I did it," she repeated, trying to grasp the reality that she had made her first Hollow kill without turning into her shinigami form. Shun'uo and Ayame returned to her side, along with Tsubaki, who was still looking pissed at something but the heated glare he kept shooting her way disappeared. In its wake was approval in his eyes. And Orihime could only guess if Tsubaki was smiling behind that scarf of his.

She looked at each one of the pixies. "Thank you, everyone."

They all smiled except Tsubaki, who looked away like a snob, and morphed back into the twin hairpins.

_Is this my strength, my true strength?_ she thought, gazing at the hairpins on her open palm. _I really want to believe that they are my own, but . . ._ Her musing brought her back to the vision she had. If there was anything clear other than the blurred faces of the two people in there, it would be this:

The woman in the vision was wearing these same pair of hairpins.

* * *

He waited until the six little insects returned into their corporeal forms. He didn't like stakeout missions. It always got boring when you had to keep an eye on a certain target day-in and day-out. For three days, he had been watching that woman and her usual activities nonstop. Wherever she went and whatever she did, he had been ordered to report it without fail. If anything unusual or extraordinary were to occur, then he would have to observe the whole event, report back to base, and debrief his superiors.

He didn't know what was the big deal about this Orihime Inoue. She was just a simple human who somehow transformed into a shinigami. Nothing threatening to their plans about that at all. She showed limited skills with the sword, and her overall performance in fights had always been like a child holding a big-ass sword. Uncoordinated, unwilling, and an utter failure.

But Nilber's report said otherwise back when he confronted her in the Karakura cemetery. According to him, Orihime Inoue displayed a great feat of battle prowess that didn't rely on style or kata but the raw instincts of battle. More than once did Nilber felt like he had been battling their own kind than a shinigami. It was thoroughly dismissed by everyone except for their Master, who listened with interest. Probably intrigued by Nilber's wild imagination. But Master acted as if he actually _believed_ Nilber's impossible claims.

So each week, a different member of his group would watch this Orihime Inoue and report anything they could. Master didn't elaborate on what exactly was _unusual_, but he said that they'd know it when they see it. And boy did he see it, all right. Those six little insects were definitely something to report the higher-ups about, but where was the fun in that?

If it weren't for him and his little octopus subordinate, Numb Chandelier, then this discovery would not have happened. He also sensed the potential in the woman that would inevitably be the wrench in the Master's plans. Her use of the six insects was unrefined; she didn't look like as if she had an idea of what exactly to do but trusted her instincts instead. It wasn't a fluke in her part because the insects' powers seem to react to the woman's will and strength. If she were to be trained to use these powers of hers, then she was a force to be reckoned with. As it was, Orihime Inoue must not be allowed to live.

He knew that there may be repercussions to what he was about to do, but he also had to take priority to the Master's plans for the future. Nothing must stop it from coming into fruition. Not even that little fly in the ointment known as Orihime Inoue.

"Chandelier will be avenged," he murmured before disappearing with a noise of static from his vantage point on top of the school roof.

* * *

Tatsuki slowly woke from sleep. She felt some pangs on her back and shoulder and a sudden urge to scratch them. Her head ached like it was being drilled open, but for the most part she felt all right. Opening her eyes, she noticed that she was lying in the middle of the school courtyard and that her schoolmates were all lying on the floor, unconscious.

Then her mind retrieved the memory of what had occurred before she passed out. She was worried about Orihime, so she made an effort to stand back up and look for her, but when she saw the orange-haired girl walking towards her with tears forming in her eyes and sweat shining and staining her school blouse, face, and clavicle, she stopped moving around. For some reason, her muscles were numb and almost unresponsive. She felt tired as well.

Tatsuki tried to call out to Orihime, but her lips wouldn't move exactly as she commanded them. Giving it up as a futile cause until she recovered somewhat, she resorted to just giving Orihime a smile. That, at least, she could do.

Orihime kneeled next to Tatsuki and sighed in relief.

"Tatsu—"

Orihime's face snapped upwards.

Red blood splattered all over Tatsuki's face.

Orihime's head slowly looked back down. Both girls stared at the blade protruding from Orihime's chest, its metallic finish stained in the woman's blood.

The blade was pulled back.

And Tatsuki could only stare in horror as Orihime's bleeding body fell to the ground.

From the outside, Tatsuki croaked. But inside, she was screaming Orihime's name over and over and over, wishing that she would be all right, that this was all a dream, a dream, nothing but a dream. But tried as she might, she couldn't hold back the tears as she stared at Orihime's fading gray eyes.


	19. Archer & Swordsman: Act II

Date written: 06/11/09 – 15/12/09

Posted on FanFiction: 21/12/09

A/N: Pissed at last chapter's cliffhanger, and that I'm still leaving all of you hanging? Well, I've put myself in quite the bind with that last chapter. I wanted it to be perfect, and there was also the lingering feeling that I'm biting more than I can chew with what I'm leading with the confrontation of the new enemy and Orihime's getting stabbed. It will surely complicate _some_ matters (thankfully not all). Anyway, I want to give more of an insight on what was happening outside the school while Orihime was using the Shun Shun Rika for the first time. Even in a decisive battle, the outside world revolves and progresses since time waits for no one. Don't worry, readers, everything will connect, I assure you.

So in the meantime, the perspective has reverted back to Ichigo and Uryuu. Time for some swashbuckling action, Strawberry-style.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 19 ---**

**Archer & Swordsman: Act II**

Adrenaline pumped into his system the moment he felt the presence of multiple Hollows phasing into Karakura. Many of them were low-level, but that was more than enough to crush even the strongest human in the city. And that worried Ichigo to no end. That bastard four-eyes expected only the two of them to keep this city safe when it was _at least_ a twenty to one battle?

The crack in the sky was foreboding. He didn't like the feel of it. Narrowing his eyes, he was able to point out at least five small dots dripping out of the crevice. If those were what he thought they were, then it was time to get busy.

A blue arrow soared through the sky.

"The contest has already started, shinigami," Ishida said, his Celtic cross chained around his right wrist and the Quincy bow glowing a brilliant sky blue. "One down."

Ichigo cursed, and with the swift unsheathing of his blade, he slashed his zanpakuto horizontally in a half-circle pattern. By the end of the slash, he hit a thin-looking Hollow that was stalking behind him. He didn't get a good look of the white mask because it was already disintegrating before he put his attention on another Hollow that was behind the first one.

He side-stepped to the left, his sword parallel to his legs. He twisted his wrist, placing the sharp edge of his zanpakuto to the front, and when the Hollow lunged at his former position, he pulled the large blade up and then slashed it down with all his strength. The weight of the zanpakuto added the overall power of the attack. The Hollow's mask shattered.

"Two down," Ichigo said.

"Four," Ishida said nonchalantly. He shifted to the left and launched two arrows in rapid succession. "Make that six."

The coast was clear for now. But Ishida was a natural long-range fighter, so even Hollows far away would have no defense against the barrage of arrows he was sending their way. However, Ichigo had had enough of this game. Even though it barely started, he just couldn't concentrate when the lives of the people of Karakura were in danger. He could handle a Hollow or two, but a whole city full of them was beyond his abilities.

Ichigo ran to Ishida, grabbed him by the collar, and shouted, "Stop this now!"

Ishida adjusted his glasses, which were disheveled when Ichigo pulled his face near his own. "Too late. Once the bait has been set, there is no turning back."

"I don't care. Just do something, dammit!"

"I am. While you aren't."

"Don't go smart-ass on me, bastard." Ichigo took a deep breath, and said, "If anyone dies today, I will personally put you at fault."

"Hmph." Ishida slapped the shinigami's hand away, and then fixed his collar. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else right now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hollows often attack their own family members. But if a bigger prey is in their vicinity—say, a person with a large supply of spiritual energy—what do you think will those animals do?"

An image of Orihime in peril rushed through his thoughts. "No!"

He dashed towards the school, hoping that Orihime was waiting for Tatsuki to finish up her club activities. A crowd of Hollows blocked his way, but he didn't care. He hacked and slashed, hacked and slashed, over and over. He didn't count how much he killed this time; the competition was in the backburner. All he could think about and worry about was Orihime and her potent spiritual presence alerting many of the Hollows in the vicinity.

He turned a corner, still far away from the school but surely gaining progress, and saw two kids playing in the middle of the street . . . and a giant Hollow stalking them. The two kids, one boy and one girl, probably twins if their similar appearances were anything to go by, were blissfully unaware of the cat-like Hollow wagging its long tail left and right as if reveling in anticipation of the pounce. Ichigo saw it lick its lips—muzzle, actually—and grind its claws on the street's pavement. The two were too busy playing catch to notice some part of the ground beside them was forming deep scratches. And Ichigo instinctively knew that it was ready to pounce on the twins.

He didn't want to waste time; he didn't want to get distracted and learn that it would be too late to save Orihime. But the will to protect the people of the town overwhelmed his thoughts of Orihime. He couldn't just stand idly by and let those two children suffer because he had more important agendas. He was 'one who protects.' And by God he would protect them.

Without thinking straight, Ichigo threw his zanpakuto like a javelin. And as it traveled in the air, thousands of thoughts sprung in his mind—

_It's not gonna hit it. I didn't aim._

_What the hell did you do?! That was your only weapon to defend those kids!_

_It's gonna miss! It's gonna miss!_

_You blew it, Ichigo. You fucking blew it._

_But . . ._

_Come on, come on, come on . . ._

_Hit the Hollow!_

_It won't._

_Hit the Hollow!_

_Hit the Hollow!!_

_HIT THE HOLLOW!!!_

The zanpakuto missed, passing the Hollow-cat and embedding itself onto the wall at the L-intersection.

"SHIT!"

* * *

"Fifty-three," he announced out of habit, his presence pervading great determination to his task, his mission. He pulled the ring back again, firing yet another reishi-concentrated arrow towards an unsuspecting Hollow. "Fifty-four."

The competition had started over ten minutes ago, and Uryuu was already making record hits over his kills. This was something to be proud about. But with the current situation, gloating was the least thing that would come to his mind. Simply put, he had been trying to eliminate the Hollow threat in one small area that was twenty times smaller than the city of Karakura, but the numbers of the white-masked beasts had not diminished during his killing spree. Picking Hollows left and right was fairly easy, as long as he had the amount of reishi needed to shoot down each and every one of them.

However, Uryuu felt that his current strength was not enough to even put a dent on the oncoming onslaught of Hollows invading Karakura. For every Hollow he shot down, two more were probably crawling out of that crack in the sky.

Then his eyes widened. The crack . . . it looked bigger than when he last saw it.

_Something's wrong_, he thought. He pulled back the chained ring, turned around, and fired. _I shouldn't get distracted. I almost got attacked. Damn it! Now I lost count._

That didn't really matter, though. He could just start again. Kurosaki was so incompetent that Uryuu wouldn't be surprised if he won with an additional digit to his body count.

He readied his bow once more, and began firing his arrows in rapid succession. Hollows of all shapes and sizes were descending upon the city like a raging, dark firestorm. The benevolent crack in the sky was widening within minutes. Uryuu had a bad feeling rising at the pit of his stomach whenever he glanced at it. For some reason, he began to realize that maybe using that Hollow bait on the populous was a bad idea.

Bu he shook it off. That would mean that Kurosaki was right, and he didn't want to admit defeat.

When he changed areas, he quickly made his position in the middle of a deserted overpass. That was good. He didn't want any normal human watching him pull a ring next to his shoulder over and over as if practicing archery with an imaginary bow. He still had his pride.

He found his target, crouching low, anticipating a couple walking towards its vantage point. Uryuu slowly took aim, honing the skills he had perfected even with the hindrance of his shortsightedness. All it took was the intent to hit where he wanted the arrow to hit. The arrow was a part of him, a part of his soul. He could even pierce the heart of a pigeon flying five miles away if he put his whole intent on it.

He released his arrow, and concentration was momentarily lost when he felt something prick his forefinger. The arrow didn't hit the Hollow's mask, but it did hit its chest. Without time to lose, Uryuu fired another arrow, the pain in his finger temporarily lost. The second arrow hit the Hollow in the mask, completely destroying it.

There was blood on Uryuu's left forefinger. It was a minor cut but enough to cause some alarm. He had gotten cuts on his fingers before; the training regime he had created for himself was rigorous as well as tiring. A medieval archer was known to be a master of stillness with his hands and to train their eyes in calculating the final destination of their long-range trajectory. And from the findings he had found in his grandfather's book collection, the Quincy took their archer mastery one step forward, creating more intricate training exercises that refine a novice with little time wasted. This gave Uryuu precision with his eyes—the eyes of a hawk—and statue-like stillness and precision with his body, though they were far from perfect. Nobody was there to supervise his training, so he had to make due to correcting his own mistakes. It was during those many training exercises that his fingers were overworked, so to speak.

Reishi condensed into the arrows of the Quincy requires minimal power to create, and there has been some cases where a well-trained Quincy can amplify the amount of reishi he puts in, making the arrow much more potent. But with gradual increase of power comes with a price. Excessive use of the upgraded arrows leaves the spiritual archer with a bleeding hand and chronic finger spasms. The same effect happens to ordinary reishi arrows, but with longer usage before bleeding and lesser consequences (calluses and shallow cuts).

Looking at the small cut on his finger, Uryuu narrowed his eyes and paid it no heed. A small sacrifice for the safety of the city. He was not worried about the overuse and the consequences that might lead to. All that was in his mind was to destroy every last Hollow.

With renewed determination, Uryuu continued shooting.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Rukia asked as she struggled to keep up with the others. They were running through the streets without stopping for anything, except for any Hollows that need vanquishing.

"Karakura High School," Urahara replied.

"Why there? According to the radar, the source of the Hollow bait is located at the southern part of Karakura. The high school is in the northeast."

"True. That is why we're splitting up."

"Eh?"

"Tessai and I will investigate the school while you, Jinta, and Ururu go find Kurosaki-san."

"What are you going to do at school?" she asked. Urahara was up to something, and even now she had no idea what it could be. She had reason to believe that wherever his destination was it seemed to be connected to the Lückenhaft somehow. Call it intuition, but Rukia liked to call it a correct guess. He hid a lot of things, even when he explained all that he could to her about these black-masked Hollows.

"Help Spaceman's legacy," Urahara said.

"Huh? Spaceman? _What_ are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's just say that it's personal business."

"Do you have any involvement with this?" she interrogated.

"No," he answered. "I'll explain my theories later. Right now we have to go."

"Wait a—"

Urahara and Tessai flash-stepped away, leaving Rukia with the two children.

"Dammit!" she cursed, glaring at the place Urahara was standing on before escaping her questions. "Oh, we're going to have a _really_ long talk after this, Urahara," she whispered. "You better prepare for it."

Jinta, who heard Rukia's hushed statement, looked at Ururu. "Manager's a dead man, isn't he?"

Ururu could only nod.

With Rukia's vow to suck Urahara dry of all information later, the three set off on another direction, hell-bent in finding Ichigo.

* * *

While they were doing that, the man in question was currently dodging the claws of the Hollow-cat. After Ichigo had thrown his zanpakuto, stabbing it into a wall, the Hollow-cat ignored the children and set its sights on him. It seemed to be more attracted to his spiritual presence than the miniscule presence of the twins. The wise thing to do would be to retrieve the zanpakuto immediately before engaging in battle with the enemy. But luck was not on Ichigo's side. To get his hands on the zanpakuto, he would have to pass through the two children, and the Hollow-cat would subsequently follow him. There was a likely chance that the Hollow-cat had only shifted its interest towards him because he had provoked it. He had to put its attention to him again when it advanced towards the kids. This already happened twice, and Ichigo was sure that it wasn't mere coincidence. The Hollow itself was more like a white-masked drone than a talking, invisible psychopath preying on the innocent. He had enough issues with that parakeet's Hollow; he didn't want to waste his time with another one. The Hollow-cat didn't talk, didn't gloat, didn't act strategically. It had every opportunity to attack the kids which will make him move into their defense, thereby making its kill easier and simpler. But it didn't do so, and Ichigo knew why.

This Hollow-cat was not intelligent. Rather, it hadn't 'evolved' into the more intelligent Hollows he had come across. Rukia once told him that Hollows also resort to cannibalism for survival, which shinigami researchers termed 'merging.' And along with this merging is the boost of both physical and mental attributes.

Ichigo should call himself lucky than unlucky inside this situation, but his thoughts were in a jumble while weighing the pros and the cons. Orihime's safety was in the forefront. He had to think up a plan quickly before it was too late. An idea would strike him a few times, but each one would endanger the kids. Going for his zanpakuto was mostly out of the question; the Hollow was somehow indecisive about which to prey on, him or the kids. He couldn't eradicate the Hollow without his sword. He was in a real bind, wasting too much time to his liking.

_When this is over, I'm going to make Rukia teach me Kidou. Having to rely solely on my sword for every encounter is disadvantageous._

The Hollow reverted back to hunting the children, which prompted Ichigo to abandon his thinking and try to provoke it again. He kicked the Hollow in the head, tipping its balance by a moment. When he landed on the ground silently, just five steps away from the kids, the Hollow-cat growled and charged. Not him. The kids.

He ran as fast as he could, straining his muscles to make it before the Hollow got too close to the children. His distraction was not enough to redirect the Hollow's attention. Even if it was a creature less intelligent than the more challenging Hollow he had defeated and sent to Hell weeks ago, he shouldn't have counted out the fact that it was still a Hollow with _some_ intelligence. And it must have noticed his constant provocation every time it wanted to attack the smaller prey.

Defending the innocent and helpless was like an involuntary response to Ichigo's subconscious. His past of being bullied might have something to do about it, but there had to be a complete gap between saving people and sacrificing your life for other people. Ichigo didn't see the difference when it came to acting on the fly, so he only did the sensible thing when he was standing right in front of a pounce attack, courtesy of the Hollow-cat: form his arms in an X and hope that it would be enough to protect the kids.

He waited with bated breath, not for himself but for the children.

The Hollow-cat was close; it changed its pounce attack into a horizontal sweep, catching Ichigo off guard as he was given the full brunt of the blow. He skidded to his right, lying on his side, and he would've gone a lot farther if not for the wall he collided with at a T-shaped intersection. Pain shot through his back, and a crater was etched on the wall. Feeling dazed but not out, Ichigo extricated himself out of the crater, grabbing a nearby telephone pole for support. A stray thought hit him.

_Just a few more feet and my spine would've hit this pole instead of the wall_, he thought fearfully. _That's just fucked up. And incredibly lucky._ Ichigo was not certain how the difference in vitality between human and shinigami would help his spine survive if he hadn't been this lucky so far. _But anyone's luck will run out one way or another._

The Hollow-cat's howl reached his ears once he stood, and what came with it was the dread. The children were looking at the crater he had formed at the wall, talking in whispers among each other, not noticing the Hollow-cat reeling its right forepaw for a fatal strike.

"NO!!!" Ichigo screamed, tensing the muscles on his legs once again. It may have been another involuntary response for Ichigo's will to protect others, but the forty-foot gap between him and the Hollow was conquered in less than a second. It was like a momentary flash of perception: one moment it was like he was miles away from his opponent, and then the next moment he was close enough to poke the Hollow-cat. Not letting this sudden burst of speed deter him from his intent, he used the garnered momentum to tackle the Hollow-cat towards the wall on the opposite side of the street, hitting it with such force that it left an even bigger crater than the first one . . . and they were barely five steps away from his zanpakuto.

Knowing that they were too far away from the kids (he didn't see it, but the children were freaked out by the second crash and ran the opposite way), Ichigo dashed to get his zanpakuto while the Hollow-cat was regaining its bearings from the tackle.

The familiar texture rubbing against the surface of his palm had a nostalgic effect, like shaking the hand of a long-lost brother he never had, and he reveled in it. He tried to pull it out of the wall, but the puncture was too deep. If he'd make a guess, he'd say that the tip of the blade might be sticking out of the other end of the wall.

The Hollow-cat hissed, its tail expanding, looking as if it had now deemed the orange-haired shinigami as a dangerous threat to its existence. The Hollow-cat began to act more on the instincts of its animal persona, taking caution on its advances and hissing and mewing loudly to unnerve its enemy. The threats present within the tone of those mews were not lost to him, and he doubled his efforts to get the damn sword out.

The Hollow prowled towards him, taking each step as slowly as if it were walking on paper-thin ice. And when Ichigo pulled out two inches of the blade, the Hollow made its move.

His eyes caught sight of the jumping Hollow, its intent primarily in tackling him; a sort of twisted revenge to what he had done. He stepped closer towards the wall, his hands firmly gripping the hilt. The Hollow went for a descending swipe of its claws, hoping to deeply scratch the shinigami's head. Ichigo ducked below the level of his zanpakuto moments before the claw hit, leaving no time for the Hollow to pull back. Sharp claws built up with the speed of the Hollow's swipe collided with the sharp edge of Ichigo's zanpakuto, the mere force of the impact pushing the blade lower.

The Hollow stepped back just as Ichigo hopped and placed his feet on the wall's side. The children were safe, the Hollow was switching to defense, and his sword's wall-prison had loosened. Orihime was still in his mind, so he had to get rid of the Hollow quick. While gravity was taking its leisure time on pulling him back to the ground, Ichigo did his own kind of pulling. With as much as effort as he could manage, his sword swooped out of the crevice and pointed towards the sky. Gravity came for him, then.

As his feet touched the ground, he wasted no time in rushing at the Hollow-cat and going for a diagonal slash. The Hollow-cat made a vain attempt in parrying his giant blade with its elongated claws, but there was more momentum on his attack than its defense. The Hollow-cat howled one final time as the cracks of its mask spread like parasitic vines.

The Hollow disintegrated into nothing.

Ichigo checked his surroundings, wanting to be sure that the coast was clear for the moment. He debated whether to glance towards the sky where the dark crack was looming down on Karakura as if it were a sign of the impending Ragnarok. He chose not to, preferring to not know at all and to let things come as they shall. It would be better that way.

Taking a deep breath, his grip on his zanpakuto tight and his direction set, he ran towards Karakura High School.

* * *

As they flash-stepped out of sight, Urahara and Tessai appeared in front of Karakura High School's gates. An air of forebode permeated their senses. The crack in the sky was more than just a mere omen for their eyes now. If it were to widen any further . . .

Urahara turned away from that line of thinking.

"Tessai, leave this to me." He pointed south. "Go get the other one."

"Are you sure, Manager?"

"Very. I have to meet Orihime's dark 'persona' face-to-face and alone."

Sensing Urahara's firm grip on his cane, Tessai replied an affirmative before flash-stepping away. He only knew little of his friend's motives about learning the truth concerning that man's daughter. Kisuke was tense, he could see that much, but there was also a fine invisible line that divided tension and resistance. In other words, if Kisuke were to be provoked by this dark 'persona,' then there would be no stopping the steady slash of Benihime. And even Tessai doubted that Orihime would survive if push turned to shove. He could hope for the best but that was it. Nothing but hope.

Urahara walked towards the courtyard, mentally counting the amount of bodies scattered around it. His attention was not deterred by this; instead, this solidified it. Something had happened in school, and even now he could feel Orihime's presence here. Something inexplicable endangered the lives of all these humans, and Orihime had been inadvertently involved. This was not good.

He approached the lone body of a girl with short, black hair. This interested him because all of the students except her were piled at the edges of the courtyard; the girl was alone at the center. She twitched. Then groaned.

Urahara walked towards her with cautious steps, the fingers on his cane anticipating any sneak attack in any direction, his lips fully prepared in shouting the name of his hidden zanpakuto. His surrounding was too quiet for his mind to settle down and think things calmly. His battle experience back during his time as a shinigami had hardened him into a powerful warrior to confront, but that didn't mean he was prone to be paranoid. He was being overly cautious because his instincts told him he should.

Standing next to the girl, who had awoken and found his presence, he asked her, "What happened?"

The girl's eyes were half-lidded, fighting to stay conscious when most of her spiritual energy seemed to have been sucked dry. There was blood on her cheeks, but it looked more like it was splashed on her face than from an injury oozing it out. It was not her blood.

Urahara heard her say something.

"What?" he asked, kneeling next to her, listening closely.

"Help her," she wheezed. She held out her clenched hand, urging Urahara to take the object she was holding. He moved his free hand under hers. She unclenched her fingers, dropping the object into the palm of the blond-haired drifter.

"This is . . ." Urahara's eyes widened in disbelief.

Two hairpins, looking like two miniature suns, were glinting on his hand.

"Misato-san . . ." These hairpins were hers. She and Spaceman created these together to protect the former; Spaceman never told him _who_ or _what_ Misato needed protecting from, only that it was better to be prepared. But even if his old friend was vague in his answers, Urahara already mastered how to piece together the puzzle his words were like. And it all led to one thing which had destroyed him and Misato: the Lückenhaft. Misato had been dead for sixteen years. This must be Orihime's now.

"Where is she?" he asked the girl.

"Black . . . mask . . ." she murmured before passing out.

Urahara felt like choking. "No," he forced out, sounding hoarse and dry. He controlled his emotions before they could get worse and interfere with his judgment. This was not good. Not good, indeed. _It's too early for this to happen._ He looked around the courtyard, observing every area for anything that could be used to fill in the gap in the picture. The presence of Orihime he had felt before was withering. So . . . she wasn't here when he arrived, and what he had felt was nothing more than the spiritual residue she left behind. But only a powerful burst of spiritual energy that could rival even a seated officer's capacity could cause something like this._ Just what happened here?_

Footsteps at the gate pushed him out of his musings. When he looked over his back, he saw Ichigo Kurosaki running past the gates and looking at the perimeters and the fallen students beside them.

"Are they—"

"No," Urahara interrupted, easing the teen from fearing the worst.

Ichigo walked towards Urahara and noticed the unconscious girl behind her. "Tatsuki . . ." When he made sure she was all right, he turned back to Urahara. "Is Inoue here?"

Urahara had seen many shinigami fresh out of the academy lose their innocence by the stress and high-tolling duties their profession required for them to do. One of the more common cases of these losses was witnessing the death of your comrades. God knows how many shinigami had died in the line of duty. And standing right here in front of the man who Urahara knew would do great things, if led in the right path, was giving the ex-captain a sense of déjà vu. It was a foul taste in his mouth, knowing what had to be done, but it _had_ to be done. He had to tell him this grave news.

Without hesitance, he showed Ichigo the hairpins. The teen took an intake of breath, looked at Urahara, as if wishing the old guy to say 'Psyche!', go back to the devil-may-care attitude he had shown when they first met, and tell him that this was all just some elaborate joke Orihime wanted to play on him. But Urahara could only say these words that put everything he had feared into stone: "We were too late."


	20. Princess and Dragon: Interlude III

Date written: 20/12/09 – 31/12/09

A/N: This chapter was a total bitch to me. On some points, it came out smooth and easy. On other points, it was like trying to cut bread with a dull cleaver. Luckily, I had some whetstone to sharpen it up, but still, cleavers are not really meant for cutting bread. Do you know how irritating it is to write this chapter while listening to the noise of fireworks from outside? I'm sitting right next to a window, for God's sake! I'm just hoping I did this right.

Anyway, time to get back to Orihime and Tatsuki. This sub-arc has gone on for far too long, and I'm already anxious to start on the Training sub-arc. So to do just that, there will be only two more chapters before the next sub-arc. Next chapter will end Ishida's bitching—er, I mean the contest, and the chapter after that will go to Rukia running away and Byakuya and Renji intervening.

Happy New Year, everyone! And here's to hoping for more chapters to come.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 20 ---**

**Princess and Dragon: Interlude III**

He was known as Helmil. It was a name given to him by his Master. It wasn't a really fitting name, in his opinion, but he hadn't been in the position to complain. The name stuck, and everybody started calling him Helmil. It had been very annoying during the first few weeks, but in time he had grown used to the two syllables that sound like there was a mill in Hell. Did it have such a thing? He wouldn't know; he wasn't motivated enough to check.

It was difficult for anyone to get him to be motivated over something. Unless it involved Master's grand master plan, then he could care less about anything else. But this human . . . this Orihime Inoue intrigued him so much that he couldn't help but hold back and let things develop. He knew his first intention was to kill her, but there would be no point in solving the puzzle if the last piece was all-out destroyed. And Helmil didn't like leaving puzzles unsolved. That was why he purposefully stabbed the girl on the right side of her chest, clearly away from the chamber of her heart.

_Unless her heart's on the right_, he thought mildly while he pulled his blade out of the girl's back. _Nope. Her heart's still beating . . . rather erratically, too._

The other girl lying on the ground was twitching, as if forcing her paralyzed body to catch Inoue's falling form. She didn't succeed, and Inoue landed on top of the girl, the former's right shoulder lying on top of the latter's.

The raven-haired girl gritted her teeth and looked up to meet Helmil's gaze. Helmil sighed through his nose, feeling disappointed that there was no threat accompanying the animosity within that girl's glare. Her spiritual presence was slightly minimal, although a little alluring for some reason. She was the least bit of his concern, however.

The prone form of Inoue laid still, blood pooling out of the wound he had made. He expected something like a cough from the enigmatic girl, knowing that he may have stabbed her right lung, but he was given nothing. Just stillness. Quiet. Too quiet.

He sensed movement from the corner of his eye. The raven-haired girl was trying to stand up. Her stance was unsteady, as if her legs were made of jelly, but she kept on rising, the glare never quivering. Helmil knew right then and there that this was a very troublesome woman. Not only to his objective but also to his time. He always considered relaxation time to be twenty hours a day, nothing less. Well, with this kind of mission, he didn't have much time for relaxation now, did he?

"Don't move," he said to the girl, "or you'll end up like your friend over there." He was bluffing, of course. He would kill her, instead.

The girl growled. She actually _growled_ at _him_.

"Dangerous woman," he muttered, while shaking his head.

"You . . ." the girl growled through gritting teeth. Her hands were clenched so tightly they were shaking. "You . . ."

Helmil didn't consider her a threat, so he immediately sheathed his sword. It would've been better to just slice the stubborn girl in half, but he felt the lingering of a benevolent entity within Orihime Inoue's spiritual presence. It was growing steadily, and it was doing so in-sync to the raven-haired girl's anger. It was almost like . . . like . . . this entity was channeling its spiritual energy to the girl.

This was interesting. Better make the most of it. There was no telling how mysterious this Orihime Inoue's abilities could be. Though now, Helmil was beginning to believe Nelbil's earlier report. The mere presence of the benevolent entity seemed to shout out danger right in front of his face.

He then spotted something sparkling within Orihime Inoue's hand. A sudden burst of reiatsu assaulted his form, but he didn't step back or be overwhelmed by the force. The pressure was mild and weak, much like Orihime Inoue's prone and defenseless form. It would take that kind of pressure a hundred times over to actually intimidate someone like him.

But still, this was most interesting. He was glad he didn't kill her outright with that stab. This would definitely excite his Master and the possibilities of what their group could achieve if it were deemed useful to their cause.

He also noticed something else. The pressure was channeling its power towards the raven-haired girl. And the girl was accepting it, further amplifying her anger until her spiritual presence doubled, tripled, then quadrupled.

_Channeling reiatsu without subject contact_, he thought. _Bizarre, yet useful._

As much as he wanted to have one of his hands resting on his sword, he didn't want to provoke the girl. He was certain the girl would react when he did anything remotely threatening. This was too good of an observation to pass up, and the curiosity in him took over. He would wait until the benevolent entity finished transferring its spiritual energy to the girl, and if the girl were to become another fly in the ointment . . .

His sword was always eager to feast on human blood.

* * *

Rage and vengeance.

These were prevalent negative emotions sparking out from Tatsuki's mind and spirit. And they had only one target. The target was around six feet tall, thin, and long fatless arms. He was wearing a black cloak that hid his torso but jutted out the limbs and head. His face was somehow deformed, as if it were half-burned and half-mutilated with a dull buzzsaw. He also wore a black mask that seemed to be shattered rather than cut below his nose.

The sword in his hand was ignored. Rage could blind anyone when they reached the point of no return. Tatsuki almost saw red; there was still some rationality in her mind, and that was what was keeping her from attacking the big guy immediately.

But there was also another reason. The longer she felt the anger rise within her like an overflowing dam, the stronger she felt the strange pressure compressing her whole body. It was hard to breathe and painful to blow, but the benefit of letting this pressure increase in magnitude outweighed something as simplistic as breathing. Who needed breathing, anyway?

She felt the power growing and growing within, but at the same time her breathing was diminishing at the same pace. But Tatsuki wanted more, needed more. This asshole would pay for what he had done to Orihime, and she would personally make sure that his due was paid . . . with a big interest.

Looking over at Orihime's prone form, she spotted something glinting inside her hand. Somehow not having control over her own body, Tatsuki unclenched Orihime's hand and picked up what she had been holding: one of her hairpins. It wasn't acting normally, too; not a lot of shiny hairpins glint even when in the shade of a person's shadow.

Again, as if someone else were controlling her mouth and voice, she said, "Santen Kesshun, I call you forth!"

The glint inside the ornament amplified until it became a very blinding light. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the weight of the tiny hairpin leave her open palm, and at the same time something started flying around her like a hungry mosquito. Something turned into three somethings, but Tatsuki didn't panic; there was no room for that emotion. Bewilderment, maybe. Fear, no. Rage was purely in her system. When the light subsided, she saw three miniature people on wings looking at her with mixed emotions bordering between confusion and caution. The same could be said to Tatsuki's side, but it was pretty mild compared to her currently main emotion.

The largest one of the three clasped his hands in front of his chest, fingers intertwined in a tug-of-war manner. A spike alerted Tatsuki's senses, and soon after the surrounding vicinity changed color, as if she were seeing through film negatives. Almost everything was white, some purple, others were in a haze between green and magenta. She checked her arms and they were pretty much normal in color, and so was the three circling mini-people with wings.

"You summoned us?" the purple one with the monocle questioned.

Her rage mysteriously left her when this perception change occurred. And the power she had been feeling before was slowly leaving her, like a full battery being drained of its juice. Not knowing what to say to the beings, she opted with the silent treatment. Well, it was temporary silence, anyway. She wouldn't find answers if it weren't.

The girl in the group, the one wearing a skimpy one-piece swimsuit, flew towards the monocle-guy and asked him, "Isn't she Orihime-sama's . . ."

She didn't finish; she didn't need to. The monocle-guy understood right away and nodded at the girl, affirming her question.

"Tatsuki-san, correct?" he asked, to which Tatsuki nodded. "This meeting may have come as a surprise to you for the moment, but we have been summoned by you for a reason."

"Are you okay, Baigon?" the swimsuit girl asked the other guy.

Baigon grunted a response. Probably a 'yeah,' if Tatsuki's ears were to be trusted; she had been experiencing tinnitus since the three were summoned, as if all external sound, excluding the ones the four of them make, were silenced along with the distortion.

"What the hell is going on here?" she finally asked them.

The monocle-guy looked at her. "It seems we are not completely compatible with Orihime-sama's spiritual system. You showed the ability to summon us at will, and that is already a sign of something."

"Huh?"

"Clearly a sign that you are worthy," the girl said.

"Yes . . . worthy . . ." The monocle-guy sounded amused. "I am Hinagiku, by the way. My specialty is strings."

_Hinagiku? Specialty . . . strings?_

"My name is Lily," the girl said. "Attacker of the trio. And the big guy behind me"—she thumbed at big guy—"is named Baigon."

"We are the guardians created for protection, and reside within the hairpins Orihime-sama wears," Hinagiku explained. "There are three more of us, but they have already found their place at Orihime-sama's side. We, however, seem to have a different master now." He eyed her meaningfully.

"Me?" Stupid question, but Tatsuki still wanted to ask that. She went from raging inferno to a bewildered teen talking to something that _should be_ a figment of her imagination. But after what had happened to her and Orihime (mostly her) during the past weeks were stuff generally categorized in the 'it's just your imagination' folder, the appearance of the three beings shouldn't have come as a surprise to her.

"It would seem so. Just trust your instincts when you face battle with your opponent. We will do the rest."

"Hold up, hold up! What are you talking about?"

Hinagiku gestured towards the stranger. "Time is temporarily stopped, but I must say that Baigon seems to be more at ease in using his specialty than when he had used it with Orihime-sama. But I digress. Lily, do you wish to clarify for her?"

"Right-o," Lily said with a mock salute. She then said to Tatsuki, "Long story short, if you want to survive against the L—"

Hinagiku suddenly covered her mouth, and glared.

"I mean," she continued when he put his hand away, "if you want to survive against this enemy, you need to use us in battle."

"But I don't know how," Tatsuki replied. She also noted the exchange between the two beings as suspicious, as if they were keeping secrets from her.

"Don't worry about that little tidbit. Like Hinagiku said, trust your instincts and it'll do the rest."

_Trust my instincts?_ So she said. But Tatsuki was left wondering if it that were wise.

"You ready?"

"Wait—"

Baigon grunted and separated his hands. The world blurred for a second, and then it returned in its original colors. The tinnitus was gone. In its stead was the rage that Tatsuki thought had disappeared. If she were still in the calm state of mind to think of why this had happened, she would've come to the conclusion that her anger must've been fueled by some outside source since she had never felt this anger so potent in malicious intent before, therefore when the world stopped, so did the source. But she was not in the state of mind, and for the next few minutes she was fueled by rage, and inside that rage, instinct prevailed.

Her enemy studied her with calculating eyes, arching a brow (or what looked like his eyebrow) at the three beings that began flying around her again. She was in an impatient mood, so she decided to draw the first strike.

Letting instinct convey her, she shouted, "Hinagiku!"

Said pixie rushed to her side, eliciting a short bow towards her before facing their mutual enemy.

"Web of Shadows, Release!" she chanted, which was like a signal for the little monocle-wearing pixie to bare his teeth, grab something inches away from his gums, and pull out what looked like black, glinting strings that were passing through the gaps between his fingers.

Hinagiku used his other hand to drag that hand's fingers perpendicular to the strings, like a harpist playing a harp. But no sound was produced; instead, his fingers were draped with similar strings. Grinning almost maliciously at the stranger, who was observing everything he had been doing, Hinagiku dropped his jaw, releasing the strings. At the same time, he shot his hands forward and upward, as if pushing the strings towards the space above the stranger.

The strings took lives of their own and started multiplying and spreading around the perimeter. With a simple flick of Hinagiku's finger, some of the strings already in place split apart and those split-ends traveled in bullet-like speed towards the dark stranger, wrapping him up in unbreakable bondages that were as thin as hair. He was now stuck inside a dome of strings, but the intricate crisscross design of the dome looked to be more of a black convex-shaped web.

Hinagiku put each of his hand on the opposite shoulder, fingers contracted in a clawing position. "Imprison!" He shouted, and dragged his fingers diagonally over his chest until they reached his sides. He now looked to be forming a bad impression of a small 't' with his arms in the chicken wing position. Along this awkward performance was the effect of the shout.

The strings took the command by heart and tightened themselves around the stranger's torso and limbs. There was also a string or two wrapped around his neck, but it only tightened enough that the stranger had slight difficulty in breathing. Hinagiku doubted that the target needed air, though. It would've been a quick kill if he had complete control over the strings, but the amount of control he had was proportional to the amount of control his master had over her growing spiritual powers. And for the moment, Tatsuki was, for all intents and purposes, a novice when it came to control. Either way, he already did his job. So it was time for the others to show their stuff.

"Lily!" he called, moving back towards Baigon as the only girl pixie of the trio floated next to Tatsuki's face.

"Lily," Tatsuki said with a commanding tone, her eyes never leaving the imprisoned enemy. "Weaponshifter, Morph!"

Moving into a fetal position, Lily glowed bright blue then spread out into two directions. The glow intensified as the once human-shaped pixie turned into a majestic blue sword. It hovered in mid-air until Tatsuki grabbed it with her left hand.

Her enemy did not even panic or try to get away. And if she were to look close enough, she could see him smirking. Paying no notice to this, Tatsuki readied her sword and dashed towards her enemy. Again, her enemy only smirked as if he found this predicament more amusing than terrifying.

Inches away from delivering a vertical blow that could cut the stranger in half, Sword-Lily grew in length, her beautiful sapphire-colored blade glowing brightly. The blade went down hard and straight . . . but it did not cut the stranger in half.

Momentarily shocked, Tatsuki lifted the sword and slashed at him again, this time horizontally. It had the same effect. The blade did not cut, slice, or even get through whatever armor he was wearing beneath that dark cloak. She did a third time, then a fourth. By the sixth strike, the blade sank deep into the stranger's cloak like hitting wet dough with a stick.

The stranger laughed. "Interesting. Very interesting. But let me ask: is that all you have?"

Tatsuki's anger magnified. But before she could step back and go for another plan of attack, a giant hand grabbed onto her throat and squeezed it tight. She imagined her windpipe slowly getting crushed until the hole was as tiny as the girth of a needle. Completely on survival instinct, Tatsuki held her breath and stabbed the extended arm. The tip of the blade passed through one side of the forearm to the other side, spurting out black blood. Yet the big guy didn't even seem fazed, as if he was used to pain . . . or pain was nonexistent to his nerves.

She began to feel lightheaded. Her lungs were screaming for air, and his grip on her throat did not lessen in intensity. She tried to remove her embedded sword from the guy's forearm, but the flesh was too tough for her slender arms to take it out while short of breath.

Again on instinct, she snapped her fingers together. This triggered the strings still attached to the limbs of her enemy to tighten and hurl them away from her. This caught the guy by surprise, so he inadvertently let go of Tatsuki as his arms shifted onto his back. He now better fitted the imprisoned part.

Tatsuki fell to the ground and gasped for breath.

"Damn, you pierced my forearm," the guy said offhandedly. "Maybe you'll pay for that."

She gritted her teeth and lifted herself up. Lily was in her hand, a distant reminder of Orihime's death by this man's hand. And rage overcame her once more. Not caring about the consequences or if it was actually a good idea, Tatsuki channeled all of her spiritual energy into Lily, and her sword-form shone as bright as the sun and the blade lengthened by three feet. It almost resembled Orihime's zanpakuto, but Tatsuki didn't know that. What mattered to her right now was the effect of the sword after she delivered violent punishment on the immobile stranger.

Muscles tensed, eyes determined, palms sweating bullets, Tatsuki cocked back the sword—and gave herself a fraction of a second to rethink this gambit—then delivered all of her strength on her attack, crying out loudly as if it were one of her practiced Karate moves.

Metal met flesh.

* * *

Helmil was impressed by the display, but none of it was enough to damage him or his armor. Until he saw her final attack. It was almost suicidal to pour all of your spiritual energy into one attack; that kind of move was both rash and wasted. He could already tell that this girl was fueled only by rage, and her line of thinking rationally had disappeared before she even imprisoned him. Or rather an image of him. This was actually what he was talking about her attack being rash and wasted. The girl didn't even know that what she had imprisoned and now destroying with all of the spiritual energy she could muster inside her puny little body was nothing more than a mere illusion.

During his climb up the social ladder of his kind, there were plenty of occasions where he had to resort to backstabbing lest his so called friends backstabbed him first. And out of the fifty-two he had partnered with, all but one planned on backstabbing him. And that lone one who didn't happened to be his current partner. This was why he kept this motto as his lifeline: Be a hundred steps ahead of your enemy. It was better to observe and gather data by using distractions, decoys, and diversions (3D as he liked to call it); Devil knew how much it had saved his life more times than he could count.

With a sigh, he came out of his hiding place and approached the courtyard. His copied image, a simple spell he had crafted from experimenting with his shadow manipulation, was lying on the ground, dead and severed in half. The strings around it were dragging silently on the ground, moving back towards the closed hands of the winged guy with the monocle. With a flick of Helmil's wrist, the image melted into a flat shadow and made a beeline towards his feet, where it melded with his real shadow.

The raven-haired girl was panting, dead-tired from the physical and spiritual exertion of the technique she had just done. It was a pity she got fooled. Oh well. This was a dog eat dog world, after all. No use moping. And when did he ever feel pity? Probably a spur of the moment thing. It sure seemed to fit the image.

He masked his presence before the girl could detect him. She may be out of breath and her spiritual presence wavering out like a radio receiving bad reception, but that didn't excuse the possibility of a surprise attack by the three little persons, who were openly worrying over the raven-haired girl. The girl, of course, paid them little heed and instead gave most of her attention on Orihime Inoue. Helmil didn't mind waiting until she was alone.

He didn't wait at all, though. After finishing his earlier thought, the girl reverted the forms of the mini-persons into the hairpin, which she now held in her palm, looking at it . . . at least that's what it seemed to Helmil; the angle of view had her back completely in his sights. Her facial expression was unknown to him, but he could already picture a good mental image to fill in that particular blank. He was certain that the girl was bewildered over what she had seemingly accomplished and it all came from the hairpin her friend owned. The earlier benevolent entity he had sensed had already diminished; she had used it all up with that last attack. And now with no one to protect her, it was time for his move.

Unsheathing his sword, Helmil stepped away from his hiding place and approached the girl. She must've heard him because she immediately turned around, her eyes widening when she saw him.

"H—How . . .?"

Helmil didn't want to explain; it was too troublesome. So he decided to end it quick with one single thrust to her heart. Unlike what his shadow image had done to Orihime Inoue, he was sure not to miss the heart.

Inches away, his blade was about to pierce her left breast—

Metal met flesh.

* * *

Emi smirked.

It hadn't been easy for her to heal the puncture wound on her chest, but she had been in dire need of medical attention. If Orihime had not gone into shock and let her alter-ego take control, then Emi's natural healing factor wouldn't have activated in time to stop the bleeding. At least her blouse wasn't as bloodied as she had first thought; she had to play dead until everything in her body had been healed. And since she wasn't in spiritual form, her healing factor not only had to repair the damages to the soul but also on the physical shell that is her body. It had taken too much crucial time, but thankfully she was able to prevent an unnecessary death that she was sure would tear Orihime apart.

"O—Orihime . . ." Tatsuki's voice was close to a whisper. Probably from surprise. Emi was fine with that. It was better than having a dead best friend, anyway.

As much as she had questionable intentions with Orihime and the soul they share, she also shared some similar feelings with Orihime when it came to the people she loved. She loved Ichigo-kun for obvious reasons. This bond was also why Emi unconditionally loved Tatsuki in a platonic way, although she'd rather screw a dog than admit it to anyone. It was very disconcerting to do this, however. She had been sure that Tatsuki was capable enough to use one-half of Shun Shun Rikka to take care of the pest that decided to eliminate her. Well, Orihime anyway. The guy most likely did not know of Emi's existence . . . before. Unlike now, where she had to clean up the mess Tatsuki left behind.

"Hmm . . . a new player in the game?" the stranger questioned, looking more intrigued than surprised. A very curious soul, it seemed to her.

Her hands held the man's blade, and they were bleeding from the deep gashes on her palms. She purposefully did that. Cutting her palms was fine, but her fingers were another story. If she had grabbed onto the blade in the reverse way, the man had the advantage of slicing off her fingers whenever he wanted.

Emi pushed the blade away. "You don't look like you're in a murdering mood."

"Ah! You've noticed."

"I would've killed her outright than used a decoy," she explained, gesturing her head at Tatsuki.

"You sound like you don't care about what happens to her."

Emi put a hand on Tatsuki's mouth before she could say anything. When Emi took a glance her way, she saw the surprise when Tatsuki saw her chocolate brown eyes. The raven-haired girl's face was stained by the blood from her palms, little red dots in varied sizes. It looked almost grotesque, but nothing compared to the horrors she had witnessed in Orihime's past.

"Not really," she said to the man, "but I'll protect her all the same."

"You're not Orihime Inoue, are you?"

"Ah! You've noticed," she retorted, clearly mocking him.

The man, however, took the mock in stride and calmly said, "And you don't seem to be in a murdering mood, too. Shall we talk instead?"

"Your intentions?" She couldn't stop herself from smiling. She didn't know why; she just found this turn of events amusing.

"I sense something in you, something . . ." The man scratched his chin, pondering over the right adjective to use. ". . . something convoluted."

Emi raised a brow. She didn't know what 'convoluted' mean, but she found it insulting.

"Should I be impressed by your vocabulary?" she asked rhetorically.

Tatsuki slapped away the hand covering her mouth. "Orihime, what are you—"

Emi punched her in the stomach. She heard her gasp from the pain and from getting the wind knocked out of her. She didn't want to do this, but Tatsuki's safety was a priority for her. If the man only wanted to talk, that was fine, but if he had more ulterior motives than mere casual conversations, then she didn't want Tatsuki to be around when things turn ugly. She was limited to the strength put into this physical body, so the punch was not enough to totally put her down.

Moving before Tatsuki could react to her surprise attack, she put her hand on the girl's forehead and began draining her spiritual energy. She had no intentions of robbing all of Tatsuki's energy, but just enough to refill some of her reserves and to knock the girl out from exhaustion.

Tatsuki was doing her best to stay awake, but the human will sometimes cannot defeat the human needs. And Tatsuki's body was overly fatigued, no doubt about that. Wanting to give her alter-ego's best friend a parting gift, she put the other hairpin into Tatsuki's hand and squeezed it shut. And in that moment, Tatsuki relented and let sleep take her away.

"You're coming alone?" the stranger asked, as Emi laid Tatsuki down.

"She is not involved in this," Emi replied, her expression neither happy nor sad. Neutral. Probably indifferent.

"Mighty noble of you."

"This is not nobility." Emi stood, then faced him. "Just me getting corrupted by my other self's compassion."

The guy laughed out loud.

"Let's start our talk."

"Right," he concurred. "Let's go over to someplace a little more private than here. Name's Helmil, by the way."

Emi narrowed her eyes, filing the name for future reference. Something about that name rubbed her the wrong way.

"Here, grab my hand," he continued. "I know just the place."

With nothing to really lose, she took his hand, observing how it was over twice the size of a normal human hand, and they both disappeared with a static sound left in their wake.

Ten minutes later, Urahara arrived on the scene.

* * *

Orihime slowly woke to a dark, barren, foggy wasteland. The ground was as gray as the fog, and she involuntarily shivered from the cold floor she laid on.

"W—Where am I?" she asked, standing up. There was no echo, the damp fog eliminating the sounds of her voice before it could reach farther than the limited distance her eyes could comprehend.

She looked around her. Nothing looked different. It was as if total darkness had turned into gray. Gray was above, gray was below, gray was everywhere. Orihime felt blind.

Putting her hands to her chest, out of sheer nervousness, she then felt the warm moisture clamping onto the fabric of her school blouse. She looked down, and then gasped in horror. She was covered in blood.

"W—Wha—Wha—What?" Her hands were dampened with the fresh and warm feeling of the red liquid. It felt thick, too thick to be colored water.

"_**Can't you tell what it is, princess?" a disembodied voice called out from the fog, "It's your blood. Your b-l-o-o-d."**_

"Who's there?" Orihime blurted, looking left and right, shivering in fear. She wiped her stained hands on the sides of her blouse. No sense in getting any of her unstained clothes dirtied with the blood.

"_**Somehow, I feel insulted. You don't remember this realm, princess, the place where you were forced to find the old hag among the thousands of fake swords?"**_

Orihime's eyes widened. She remembered now, the voice and this place.

"_**Remember now?"**_

"What do you want from me?" Orihime asked, not wanting to beat around the bush. Emi wanted her for something, but she didn't know what.

"_**I see we still have some memory lapses . . . don't you remember how you got blood all over your torso?"**_

She looked at her chest again, noticing a small hole on the fabric on her left breast. "I don't . . ."

"_**Don't answer that; it was rhetorical. This one isn't, though: What is the last thing you remember before you blacked out?"**_

Orihime answered truthfully. "I remember moving towards Tatsuki-chan, hoping that she's okay—" She then gasped.

"_**Before you go berserk over your friend, she's all right. Fatigued, but all right.**_

"_**Now then, since you're finally awake, do you want to come back out?"**_

First sighing in relief over the safety of Tatsuki, she then pondered over Emi's words. "Out?"

"_**You've been asleep for at least a half hour. And currently I'm having some fun killing the Hollows around Karakura. Speaking of fun, that crack in the sky looks to be getting bigger by the minute. Oh . . . a giant Hollow came out. Hmm . . . omoshirosou **__(tr. 'Interesting')__**."**_

"Hey, what's going on out there?"

"_**You mean apart from some giant Hollow crawling out of a crack in the sky, landing in Karakura Park where Ichigo-kun and Ishida are surrounded by an army of Hollows, and they might die at a moment's notice if they aren't backed up soon? Well, there's that shopkeeper—Kisuke Urahara, I think—standing just a few feet away from me, and he doesn't look too happy at all. I liked him better with the carefree attitude."**_

"Emi?"

"_**Sorry, princess, but I guess you're staying in there for a little longer. Gotta have some fun in the real world once in a while."**_

"Eh?! But—that—you can't!"

"_**Who says you have a choice in the matter?"**_

Orihime could imagine the shit-eating grin Emi was showing."Then I'll force my way out."

"_**Go ahead and try. By the time you can control me again, it'd be too late."**_

She narrowed her eyes, and they slowly closed shut. She concentrated on her spiritual energy and the gray environment Emi had created. "We'll see about that," she whispered to the fog.

In the outside world, Orihime was oblivious to how much shit has hit the fan.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

To **wartanker66**: I actually got the name "Web of Shadows" from that Spider-Man videogame. I only discovered you using that title on one of your fics on New Year's Eve at exactly 10:14 PM; approximately 48 hours after I wrote that portion.


	21. Archer & Swordsman: Act III

Date written: 03/01/10 – 26/01/10

Posted on FanFiction: 31/01/10

A/N: Life gives me the blues sometimes. No reason for it, too. I'm a mood-swinging male, and if you add coffee and a box of chocolates . . . prepare for insanity and a chocolate addict on a sugar-high rampage. Well, during the three weeks I wrote this chapter, I lot of things _did_ happen in my life. My 19th birthday, for one. A barrage of plot bunnies putting my muse's organizing nature into a state of near-death, for another. Having my Internet connection severed due to incompatibility with my Wi-Fi receiver and Windows 7, for _another_ other. Anyway, the ideas and writing-motivation for this story don't come reeling in as swiftly as before, either by my decaying interest in this story or the Naruto and Clannad plot bunnies tempting me to write them down instead.

As much as I like to continue on with what occurs between Ishida and Ichigo during this particular event, I can't think of anything other than what has happened in the series. And I find that revisiting a scene that you've already seen before (as I'm sure you readers have all did) makes the 'putting the episode into words' a little redundant. So as much as I don't like skipping, I'm going to have to remove the scene where Ichigo and Ishida face off the Hollows in the park. I've read enough Bleach fanfics having this scene written with the actions happen like in the anime word for word to cost me a lifetime . . . and my patience . . . and don't forget my sanity. This is why I had a lot of trouble deciding what to do on Chapter 1 since it parallels so much with what has occurred in the anime. And I'm sure that because of that little blunder, I must have turned some readers' attention away due to boring them to death. But at least the ones who have stuck to this story until now see the gem hidden within the dirt. And I thank you all for that.

I'm still alive and kicking, and it would take more than just real life to keep me from finishing this very long project.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 21 ---**

**Archer & Swordsman: Act III**

"What did you say?" Ichigo yelled, pulling Urahara by his collar until they were nose-to-nose. "What do you mean we were too late? Where's Inoue?"

"This place"—Urahara gestured to the courtyard—"was like this when I got here. That girl gave me these hairpins, murmuring Inoue-san's name before passing out."

Ichigo grabbed the man's wrist and examined the hairpins, and he cursed mentally, scowling all the way. "Then where is she now?" he asked.

Urahara shook his head. "I do not know."

Ichigo let him go, and then ran towards the school gates.

"You won't find her in time," Urahara shouted. "It is better that you concentrate on the Hollows invading Karakura than finding Inoue-san."

"I can't do that!"

"Why not?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Because—"

Urahara held up a hand, silently telling Ichigo to say nothing. He walked towards the substitute shinigami, his cane and clogs tapping rhythmically against the ground. "You need to save the people of Karakura," he said.

"But . . . Inoue—"

"Which will you put priority: a single life or a hundred innocents?"

That made Ichigo bite his tongue. He couldn't think of anything to rebuke that.

Urahara looked around, sparing a more-than-momentary glance at Tatsuki's unconscious body, and sighed through his nose. "I know this is a hard decision for you to make, but you must consider some things before charging in like a brainless berserker."

Ichigo's eye twitched. It almost sounded like the sandal-hat guy insulted him.

"If you decide to search for Inoue-san, where would you look? What place will you go first? Will you leave the unknowing civilians to the mercy of the hungry Hollows just because you've taken priority to one single person's life to theirs?"

"It's nothing like that. It's just that I need to be sure Inoue is safe."

"And you're compromising the safety of others for this."

"I'm not the one who released the goddamned Hollow bait! If there's anyone to blame, then blame that arrogant Quincy bastard."

"I'm not pinning any blame," Urahara said, adjusting his hat as a mild wind picked up and came westward, "just observing the consequences of your actions."

"Then what in the hell do you expect me to do?" He crossed his arms.

"I expect you to trust me," the blond said simply, but his eyes showed a more serious side.

"With what?" Ichigo asked cautiously.

"With Inoue-san's safety. Simply put, _I_ will look for her, while you save the city."

Ichigo studied the truthfulness of the man's statement. He wasn't a person who could easily detect a lie, but what he lacked from studying people's words, he made up with intuition and the conviction he could see from anyone's eyes. And right now, Urahara's conviction spoke volumes. He really did desire to go and look for her, but there was some kind of ulterior motive he picked up on. He wasn't exactly sure what, but then again, what choice did he have?

"I . . ." Ichigo licked his lips, realizing just then that they had gone dry and sweat was streaming down his clothes. He couldn't be sure whether this was from his earlier excursions or the heavy atmosphere he was in at the moment. "I'll trust you for now."

He saw Urahara made subtle changes in his posture, as if he had relaxed when he made that statement. Was he expecting a negative response?

"_But_," Ichigo added, not willing to give the man too much leeway; trust is earned, not given, "if you hurt Inoue in any way, I will personally rain down Hell upon you that you'll beg the Devil himself to take you away from me."

Urahara chuckled, not perturbed by the threat. Not at the slightest. "You have my word on that, Kurosaki-san." He held his right hand out, the cane standing up to attention, pointing at the sky like a tiny flagpole, while his left hand went to his right chest. "I promise not to bring harm onto Orihime Inoue in any way or form."

Ichigo wanted to ask him if that was really necessary, but he didn't.

"You should go to the park," Urahara said. "That's where the crack is probably hovering over. The swarm may be concentrated there."

He looked at Tatsuki and the surrounding students, all looking worse for wear when it came to physical stability. "And what about everyone here?"

"My old friend will be back from an errand soon. He's exceptional in healing wounds like how Kuchiki-san heals yours."

At the time, Ichigo didn't know that was an understatement, but he still entrusted the guy to not only find Orihime for him but also the health of the beaten students inside the courtyard. As much as his instincts seemed to tell him that trusting the sandal-and-hat guy was a very bad move on his part, he couldn't turn his help down. Ichigo was only one man, and in the middle of a crisis that required more—much, much more—than just his two hands, refusing help would sound foolish.

But it took a lot of effort to say this leaving remark: "I'll take your word for it."

With his back now turned from the courtyard, Ichigo set out towards the park, intending to kill as many Hollows as he could. _All for the safety of strangers_, his darker thoughts uttered, but he shook it off. He made his decision a month ago. No use regretting it now.

* * *

Kisuke Urahara did what he could to the raven-haired girl—Tatsuki was her name, he had heard—but the best would have to be lessening the discomfort brought on by a swift blow to her lower abdomen. The bruise forming there was not necessarily alarming, but it intrigued him that the blow looked to be strong enough to knock a normal girl unconscious. And he also admired her well toned midriff, as perverted as that sounded, but how was he supposed to heal something he couldn't see. At least he didn't need to do a thorough examining to learn that Tatsuki does martial arts: her karategi (_**tr.**_ Karate Uniform) was a dead giveaway.

He also noted that the bruise on her abdomen seemed to be the only injury visible. Kisuke doubted that the girl had been relatively lucky to not sustain any more than this, but the lack of physical evidence (excluding exhaustion) tried to placate those doubts. It was like a jigsaw puzzle missing a vital piece, and Kisuke didn't like to keep things unsolved for long. But as much as the curious scientist in him wanted—demanded, more like—to learn more of the anomaly, he didn't have time for that right now.

There was a sudden gust of wind, and the familiar reiatsu of his Jamaican-looking friend eased the fingers crushing his cane. Kisuke didn't realize that he had been tense ever since Kurosaki left.

"Manager," Tessai called, as he adjusted the body he was carrying on one shoulder, "is everything all right?"

"I wished it was so, my friend," he replied, then shook his head. "It is now worse than I feared."

Tessai took a long time to say something back. It was as if he did have something to say, but couldn't form the words out of his mouth. "Surely you cannot do what you must. It is his child, after all."

"I have no choice."

"There's always a choice, Kisuke."

Kisuke looked down, avoiding Tessai's gaze. He really didn't want to do this, he really did, but knowing the dangers Orihime could cause if left in that state for too long was enough to set his mind straight . . . or the majority of it, anyway. Tessai's statement put him in second thoughts when hesitation should not be permitted. There were the dangers . . . but there was also Spaceman's legacy.

He shook these thoughts out. "I'll think about it once I find her," he said. "Patch everyone here up and also wipe out their memories." He looked at Tatsuki and then to the hairpins still in his palm. "Except for the girl in the center. Take her and the one you're carrying to the shop. We'll explain everything to them there."

Tessai nodded. "What will you be doing?"

"Searching for Orihime."

* * *

Emi just finished a very interesting conversation with one of the most level-headed individuals she had met all her life. The topic was appealing and the wonders of his claims were nothing short of wonderful, but she felt somehow unsatisfied by the whole thing. Sure, it was nice to talk to someone with the same kind of knowledge she instinctually had, for some unfathomable reason even to her, but that didn't left out the fact that she was still not fully in control of the body. Even as she and Helmil spoke inside the woods of Karakura Park, the princess would inevitably try and regain control of the body. Emi didn't have to worry right now since Orihime was still sleeping, but it still annoyed her that she'd be easily repelled after some mental mumbo-jumbo the Rukia-bitch taught the princess. Meditation and deep concentration are required skills when using Kidou, and even though Emi saw great potential in learning these demonic arts (how she _loved_ the sound of that!), the price she had to unwillingly pay for it was too high to her liking. The choice was not hers to make, too, which annoyed her even more. Damn that bitch!

She saw a Hollow buzz through the canopy, and she noted its appearance looking to be a cross between a mosquito and a bee. It didn't look their direction.

"And that's all there is to it?" Emi asked Helmil, who was leaning against a birch tree with his arms crossed behind him. It pictured him as more at ease than the tension one would show off by crossing their arms in front. _But honestly that position makes him look gay_. "I go with you, we meet this 'Master' of yours, and he'll tell the rest to me, including this grand master plan he envisions?"

"Yes." His answer was straightforward and clearly spoke a lot about having no nonsense in his tone. All of that jam-packed into one single word.

"Anything else I should be aware of?"

"That this is an opportunity you cannot decline; doing so would make the deal permanently void and declare you immediately an enemy to the eyes of my Master."

"Kinda paranoid, isn't he?"

"It's not my place to criticize my Master."

"Then he's more screwed up than I thought, what with being able to submit someone like you into a non-questioning slave. Sorry, but if this how things should go, then I'd rather have Ishida take my virginity."

"You can't honestly be declining this offer."

"I am declining. I am a free-willed individual, and I'd be damned before I let your Master force me into submission."

Helmil sighed, not wanting to argue with her. That was another thing she noticed since the start of their interesting conversation. Helmil's body language suggested that he was a really laid-back type, more out of laziness than cocky confidence. He was also not one to negotiate since he seemed to take 'No' as an answer fairly quick. Then a thought came to Emi.

"Your Master was not the one who proposed this, was he?" she asked. One thing she was sure about Helmil was the devotion he had for his so-called 'Master.' _A Hollow Yes-man. Neat. And if this Master's gender is really male, then I'm more than certain that Helmil is gay._ If this were true (the devotion part, not the gay part), then Helmil would _not_ have taken 'No' for an answer. He would've droned on and on until he had Emi convinced and agreed to the deal.

Helmil slowly shook his head. A simple left and then right gesture, nothing more. "He is still unaware of you, the alter-ego of Orihime Inoue. I'm only offering you this because I know that you would be beneficial to my Master's vision. Our group is always open for recruitments, after all."

"I'm still refusing, though."

He sighed once more. "Fine. Do what you want."

"Not gonna argue?" She raised a brow, a little disappointed at how easy he succumbed to her rejection. _A Yes-man even to strangers, huh._

"Your conviction is dead-set. It's not like any more of my words can break that."

"You'd be surprised."

"Then I guess I'll offer you this final deal before taking my leave." Helmil pushed himself off the tree trunk and neared Emi. "I might not have convinced you to join our side today, but truly there's something in my words that have swayed you."

"Truthfully, your offer is very tempting. Just not tempting enough to risk becoming a slave like you, Mister Kiss-ass."

He laughed out of humor rather than annoyance, and it irked Emi that she couldn't get under his skin. No matter how much sarcasm she spilled in her words, no matter how disrespect in her speech she was to him, Helmil took it all in stride as if he heard this on a day-to-day basis.

"That's where my next offer lies," Helmil continued. "Today you disagree, but in the future you might just change your mind."

"Don't bother coz I won't."

"Are you sure about that? It doesn't really matter. Whether you come to us or not, Master's plan will come to fruition regardless."

"Then why ask me to be a part of it?"

"Because I want to. Something about you intrigues me so much that I can't help but let you join our little group."

"You flatter me, Kiss-ass." Again, she saw nothing in his expression to indicate annoyance.

"I guess I do, huh. My next offer would be the indefinite expiration of my deal."

"How generous." Her tone was full of sarcasm. "You might as well wait for a thousand before hearing a reply from me."

"Just think about it. I assure you, you will soon see things our way."

"Do you always do this when it comes to recruiting members, giving them time to think about the offer?"

He shook his head. "You're the first to be given this deal. Like I said, people who refuse the offer to join die. Currently, your answer is undetermined."

"Should I be grateful you're doing this for me?" She scoffed.

"I don't expect a thanks but an affirmative from you soon."

A loud roar echoed. When Emi looked up, she saw the crack in the sky widening like it was being ripped.

"Damn. Looks like time really passed by," Helmil said, looking at the dichromatic sky as orange began to tinge into the light blue.

Glancing at Orihime's watch, Emi saw that it was less than a half-hour away from sunset.

"I'm sorry to leave so abruptly but I'm late for a debriefing."

"Wait a moment," Emi said, putting one hand on her hip. "I just need one more thing from you."

"My services don't come cheap, my lady." He smirked.

"Be sure to put it on my tab, then. This body"—she gestured at herself with her free hand—"is incapable of sustaining anymore lethal damage. As much as I would want to fight those bugs while inside this fragile shell, I don't want to be put at a disadvantage."

"So you're asking for me to forcefully eject your soul out of your body, right?"

"Yes."

"And if I do this, will you think about that offer in the future?"

Emi rolled her eyes. Leave it to creature like him to add conditions in favors. "Yes, yes," she said.

Something pushed her chest inward, and the resulting force acting on her body yanked her back a few feet, but her dexterity prevented her from falling over. Emi touched the spot where she was pushed, then back at the retreating form of Helmil, his back turned to her.

She didn't even bother saying 'Thank you' to the guy. "Pervert," she muttered instead before nearing her lifeless physical shell. She carried it bridal-style and dashed towards the graveled path of the park. Once there, she looked for an empty bench and laid her physical body there. It was reckless to place it in the open while hundreds of Hollows were rampaging through the streets and skies, but most wouldn't understand the way she saw these Hollows.

She smelled the Hollow bait when Helmil took her into the clearing inside the tree-infested section of Karakura Park, and realized that not only did it act on attracting Hollows but also put them into a hungered frenzy. She wouldn't be surprised if some stronger Hollow began to eat the weaker ones because it didn't deem human souls to be sufficient for its deepening hunger. Which was why she wasn't very worried about placing her body there since the Hollows around her would be too busy looking for souls to take notice of a soulless body or, to them, a corpse.

Adjusting the front hem of her robes to reveal more of her voluptuous cleavage—there was no strategic point for it, but she just wanted a little change in wardrobe—she turned to the gathering Hollows that were encircling her like a pack of wolves. One hand went to the hilt of her nodachi, and she smiled in anticipation.

The rest of what happened began with a blur, a flash of light, and then a road filled with decimated bodies of Hollows, both mutilated and dismembered beyond all recognition.

Emi was surely living up to her name, because she was showing off the most sadistic grin she had ever shown.

She sighed contentedly while sheathing her blade. "Omoshirosou."

* * *

Kisuke Urahara had some trouble locating Orihime. The Hollows that attacked him were taken care of without wasted effort, so there was no need to release his zanpakuto . . . yet, anyway. It was better to do that once he found her.

Along his search through the empty streets around the central districts of Karakura, he was reunited with Rukia, Ururu, and Jinta. Their search for the shinigami substitute was a failure, they told him.

"Change of plans," he replied hurriedly. Some Hollows came to disrupt their conversation, but they were quickly eradicated by Ururu's rocket launcher. The loud explosions were sure to attract more of the Hollows to their vicinity, but Kisuke thought it was better that way. The less likely those Hollows would target humans after all.

"You guys go on ahead to Karakura Park," he continued. Rukia looked ready to state her opinion, but he flattened it with what he said next. "Kurosaki-san is there, fighting the Hollow horde alongside the Quincy."

"Uryuu Ishida . . ." Rukia murmured. "If we're going there, then where are _you_ going?"

"I promised Kurosaki-san that I'll find Inoue-san for him."

"Why?"

Kisuke waved his fan around. "Kurosaki-san seems to be quite serious about her safety. Since he's busy taking care of the Hollows, he entrusted this job to me."

"_He_ trusted _you_?" she questioned, one eyebrow arching.

"Yes, believe it or not. Didn't have much of a choice on who to pick, either."

"Urahara—"

"You three should go help Kurosaki-san right this instant. I don't think even he can hold off that amount of Hollows in little time." He looked up at the clouds, where they were creating a wide berth for the luminous crack in the sky. "It's growing bigger and bigger."

"We're not done yet here, Urahara."

"Yes, we're not. So much to do; so little time." He turned around to walk away—

"Wait!" Rukia yelled.

Kisuke looked back, his eyes shadowed over his hat.

"When this is over, you and I will be having a little chat."

"All right." Kisuke somehow knew that their 'little chat' would not come, but he had to say something to end the conversation. Rukia was a curious soul, as much as she'd try to deny it, and it was in that curiosity that pulled her into books and the education presented to her back in the shinigami academy. Kisuke was no fool; he did his homework on his frequent customers. And because of this light on her back story did he come to the conclusion that Soul Society would not delay her capture any longer after this fiasco was over.

With steeled emotions, Kisuke flash-stepped away from the street and decided to scout the area on the highest rooftop nearby. You'd find surprise etched onto his face when he reached one particular rooftop and found Emi giggling while skinning something alive. That something looked like a bear-type Hollow, around the same height as a teen-aged male. It screamed bloody murder as Emi dug her elongated blade into its flesh, making her look like a Biology student having fun dissecting a frog. Whenever the Hollow bear howled, she would deepen the sword's piercing entrance, stunning the beast for a while, before making a one-eighty degree turn on the sword like trying to open a lock with a key. She repeated this process two more times, and it disgusted Kisuke after each time.

He didn't move, lest he made Emi aware of his presence. He needed to tread carefully. Catching the prey by surprise was much better than facing it head-on. Shinigami had done this to Hollows for as long as he remembered, and there was no dishonor in using a presented advantage over your enemy. Then again, Kisuke was not much of a man of honor, anyway.

"Nice to meet you again, Urahara-kun," she said, not turning her eyes away from the disintegrating mask of her victim. The Hollow gave one final death rattle before the purification process was completed.

"Emi," he replied, not wanting to go with niceties. Normally he would've at least been a little happy-go-lucky, but the gravity of what he should do proved too much for him to hide his emotions behind a fictional mask.

"I know all about you, you know. Father's zanpakuto's spirit proved quite a resourceful person for information."

"What have you done?" His stomach churned. Kisuke knew what Orihime's father had done while sacrificing himself to save the girl, but how did that connect to Emi extracting what she wanted from Tsukiyomi?

"Father caught on quick on what I've done to princess when we were still infants."

Kisuke had a feeling that Emi was smirking while her back was to him. They were both facing down at the army of Hollows crowding on a particular spot in Karakura Park, which the rooftop they were on overlooked. Things were deteriorating rapidly into a state of utter chaos that it unnerved Kisuke somewhat. Even though he had faith in Ichigo Kurosaki to beat against the odds and defy fate in the most flashy attempt the boy could manage, the slim chance of him failing was still a worrisome aspect inside Kisuke's mentality. Not only for the life of Isshin's son, but also the fate of the city.

"Do you know where I'm going with this, Urahara-kun?"

"Not exactly," he answered. Truthfully, he was very interested, but the potent presence of several Hollows near their vicinity was a little distracting, like an annoying fly buzzing and swirling in front of your face.

"Simply put, Father had realized something was wrong the moment Mother gave out her last breath. He must've known then of my existence inside his daughter, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. I am a part of Orihime as much as his own alter-ego was a part of him."

"You refer to yourselves as 'alter-egos' but I know you are just parasites living inside innocent beings."

"Do you really think Father is all that innocent?" She faced him, her trademark smile flashing in full bloom. Her tone gave the impression of her enjoying their talk, and this revelation struck something undeniable in Kisuke: she didn't deny his accusation.

Instead of answering, he gave a question of his own, one that would hopefully propel him closer to the completion of the 'Evil persona' jigsaw puzzle. "Why are you even telling me this when you already know my intentions towards you?"

"Why?" She shrugged. "I don't even know myself. And how I knew about your planning to kill me is simple: Tsukiyomi had all the answers I needed to judge your character, how you react to different situations . . . and what you would do to fulfill the promise you made to Father."

Kisuke breathed deeply, but did not utter a word.

"It was fun devouring her, you know," Emi said. "Before Father foiled my first attempt in becoming the queen of this body, I had already finished making one part of princess's soul as my own. Do you know what it is?"

He did know, and the way Emi boasted on about what happened in the past solidified his theory. It also made more sense as to how she was able to take control of Orihime's shinigami body when Orihime least expected it. "You devoured Orihime's zanpakuto spirit after you were born."

"One hundred points to you, Urahara-kun." She rewarded him with three slow, unenthusiastic claps. No, not enthusiastic—it was more sarcastic, really. "So I'm sure you also know how that increased my powers, right? And I had fifteen years of mental training to get used to it. It's not enough to impress a veteran such as yourself, but I know it's enough to engulf you inside my playground.

"Princess is right about one thing. She _is_ borrowing strength rather than using her own. She can't use her own because _I_ have it; the spirit she had been talking to is nothing more than a replacement of the zanpakuto she lost. And with princess's original blade in my power, do you still think you have what it takes to kill me?"

"I won't know until I try." He readied Benihime, the incantations for the shikai release already at the tip of his tongue. He wasn't about to engage immediately or make the first strike, though. Like how he was not a man of honor, Emi was surely not a woman of fairness. Underhanded tricks were things he had to watch out for.

"Tsukiyomi also had information about your battle stats and techniques," Emi said, almost playfully. "Even your faults and fighting habits."

"Those were old stuff. A person can change a lot after a decade."

"Yes, yes." She nodded twice, still smiling, and rotated her wrists. Joints in her wrists audibly cracked and strained as they warmed up for an intense battle. "I suppose they do. Then again, the more things change, the more they stay the same."

The two warriors were about to start an epic duel when they were both forced to turn their attentions back to the park where the luminous presence of the crack widened into the shape of an eye. Two giant white claws clung onto the arcs of the eye, like pulling the doors of a malfunctioned elevator. And that was when its face exited the shroud of the Hollow World.

It was as Kisuke predicted: a Gillian-class Hollow had been baited.

* * *

Images of the past were swept by the wind. Images of her childhood, of her times with Sora, of her times with all her friends. They varied in topic and event, but all had one thing in common: they were dear memories to her. But there were also memories that weren't hers. Images of a man with short brown hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and an eerie but confident smile; of two hands covered in red blood slowly coagulating into black-like soot as smoke rose from them; of a white mask dipped into some black substance—oil, paint, tar, she wasn't sure—turning into a malevolent black, with dark brown eyes peering through the eyeholes; and of the blond shopkeeper she had met once, donning shinigami robes with a white haori and holding in his hand a small glass-like orb that seemed to radiate immense power.

Orihime had tried to escape Emi's imprisonment but the task was easier said than done. She didn't even know where to start looking for an exit. The meditation Rukia had taught her helped in navigating through her mind, but it didn't seem to work effectively against Emi's mind defenses.

The once gray mist of which she had awoken to gave way to the field of fallen swords. It wasn't immediate, though. The mist thinned out as if fading from existence, but the temperature was as cold as when she woke up. Orihime did not dare touch any of the swords impaling the dry ground.

There was no point in staying here; the sight of this place didn't bode well for her stomach, as she felt it flip like a fish out of water. She tried meditation again to help her get out of here—what worked once should work a second time, she believed—but her efforts ended up with nothing. Her eyes, closed from meditation, opened to the same scene after her first attempt of escape. The graveyard of swords looked as depressing as when she first came here, and it seemed to intensify for every minute the longer she stayed in this place. Orihime didn't want to stay here anymore than she had to, so she set out on looking for a way out, all while giving each sword she passed a bit of space, lest she accidentally touched one of them.

The sky overhead was like a fire close to being burned out. Night was closing upon this mind-world, and Orihime didn't want to travel inside this lonely world in the dark.

"Get yourself together, girl," she whispered to herself. "This is a test of your will, a test of your resolve. No one is here to help you now. Not even the kimono woman." _No more borrowed strength. Whether you fail or succeed, it is all because of you and you alone._

Orihime balled her hands into fists, preparing herself for whatever lay beyond the graveyard of swords. She would get out of here no matter what.

* * *

After Emi relayed to princess about the happenings in the outside world, she turned back to Urahara. At the center of the park, the giant Hollow was halfway out of the crack.

"What excitement out here," she said, her tone displaying an obvious part of her personality, if her sadistic smile wasn't enough evidence. "What do you make of it, Urahara-kun?"

He said nothing.

Emi raised her sword, pointing the tip at the former shinigami captain. "Shall we start?"

Urahara was halfway through summoning his zanpakuto's shikai ("Awaken, Beni—") when she rushed at him, and elbowed him in the gut. The momentary stunned expression on the shopkeeper's face was almost priceless, so before it changed into a more serious face, Emi directed her blade at his neck.

He dodged in time—a phenomenal feat, considering he had to bend his whole upper body backwards reminiscent of Neo—but the gust accompanying the slash blew away his hat before he had time to keep it in place. His torso met the ground, and he would've been severed vertically in half if he had not rolled backwards before Emi redirected her sword and cut it down on him like a man slamming a sledgehammer one-handed. Sword met the paved rooftop in an almost quiet union; she stopped it just in time for the tip of her sword to touch the ground as light as a fly.

Emi did not stop attacking as she dashed forward, catching Urahara in a kneeling position as he swung his cane in the opposite direction of her own swing. She felt a moment of slow-motion entering her senses and observed how Urahara's lips moved slowly as their two swords were close to reaching their flashy embrace.

She saw red. But it was a different red than what she first thought.

It was not Urahara's blood nor was it hers, but a barrier created a split second before the two swords collided. Its crimson shade gave the impression of hardened blood, and Emi had a feeling that it _was_ composed of the red liquid. The barrier was obviously a skill of Urahara's shikai, seeing that he had successfully released his zanpakuto. Though it had caused a delay in the shopkeeper's inevitable demise, she couldn't help but feel entranced at the color and shape of the barrier. It was beautiful in a morbid sort of way . . . her personal preference for art.

Their eyes were narrowed at each other, though Emi's was more playful than serious, as if she were in a state of euphoria. Emi was pushing her sword downwards while Urahara was pushing his upwards. They were in a battle of strength, waiting for one to outlast the other. Their muscles strained to keep up to the demands of applying vast amounts of force into their lock. Emi was grinning at this all the way. She had regenerative abilities, so the strain on her arm's muscles were minimal as they kept healing back up; Urahara didn't. It was a win situation for her.

But it was in that moment where Urahara had three seconds away from giving in that they both felt it. Energy insurmountable, pulsing, that it left them both gasping in surprise. They looked back towards the Gillian getting slashed around the shoulder, but that was not what surprised them enough to put their battle-to-the-death on hold.

Ichigo's reiatsu had risen fivefold, gradually increasing. And it was radiating erratically like a severed but active livewire.

Without an exchange of words, the two jumped off the rooftop, running in top speed towards the park.


	22. Princess & Swordsman: Final Act

Date written: 29/01/10 – 25/02/10

Posted on FanFiction: 28/02/10

A/N: I had Midterms. What do you expect? From January to March, these three months are when I am at my busiest, guys. It happened last year, too, although this fic didn't exist until April of that year. No matter. Here's the final act of the Quincy arc.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 22 ---**

**Princess & Swordsman: Final Act**

Kisuke wished he still had his hat. It gave him comfort over the range of emotions he tried to keep at bay. Few would've known this—and it was quite a few because Kisuke never bothered knowing other people due to his life expectancy which can outlive even the oldest person on Earth—but he started wearing that hat after he was introduced to a game of poker by a friend back in 1958. This was a time when Japan's economy was starting to reassert itself after its fall in a post-World-War-Two community. The business associate in question was a half-American who was born and raised in the US but had a Japanese mother who migrated into the foreign country two years before the war, and he and Kisuke met while the former was drunk and slurring for directions of his hotel from the latter. They hit it off pretty much after that, for some odd reason. The half-American explained that he came here on vacation—he and Kisuke wouldn't be business partners until 1969, in the same month a space shuttle from America landed on the moon, but that's a story for another time.

He showed Kisuke how to play poker one night, and the blond was instantly hooked. Not enough to pronounce it as an addiction, mind you. It was just a hobby he wanted to do after decades of only tinkering around with supernatural experiments and managing a small shop in a non-disclosed area in Karakura Town. He got to admit it was a good stress reliever for some of the bigger failures of his projects back then, but whenever they played he lost almost all the time. He was lucky he and his friend only played with tiny wages than big rollers.

"Don't worry so much about it," his foreign friend said. "You just need to work on your game face." His friend needed work on his accent, but Kisuke still got the gist of what he meant.

It was true Kisuke was a master when it came to showing a different facial expression than what he was really feeling—he had decades to perfect that—but once he sat down and his cards were given to him, all of that training went out the window for some reason. That left him with the basic knowledge of Texas Hold 'Em, playing with his friend and other poker enthusiasts, and a face that expressed everything it was feeling. Kisuke lost a lot of money, but his skills in the game grew.

Something else also grew. When the foreigner returned to his home country, Kisuke taught Tessai the game, and they played with 1 Yen coins representing $10 chips. Even against Tessai, he often lost because he couldn't hold a bluff or make Tessai bet everything in when he had an excellent hand. He might be a natural loser in the ways of putting on a 'poker face' (as it was coined much, much later), but that did not deter his mind to work around that disadvantage.

If he couldn't hide his emotions during the game, then the next best way would be to hide his face—or rather just his eyes. They are the windows of the soul, after all. Around a month after the foreigner left, Kisuke bought himself a hat. It resembled a small summer hat and a gangster fedora, and it had been a hard choice to pick out the colors (green hat with white stripes or white hat with green stripes). And that was when he always turned to his hat for the dreaded 'poker face,' though with a more playful side than the generic stoicism. He wore it all the time in games that he began to grow dependent on it that he would wear it outside the games as well. Not long after, he discovered that hiding his emotions without the hat was a lot more difficult to do, and Yoruichi, who went to Urahara Shouten for a little surprise visit back in 1978, was appalled that he had grown weak over a simple ability as emotion masking. Though she did comment that he looked mysterious with that hat.

His hat meant emotional control (keeping the poker face in place, as he liked to call it); without it, he was screwed more or less. He could've just stopped from flash-stepping, turned around, and went back for it. But he couldn't forget about Emi and her unpredictability.

This situation was like a Texas Hold 'Em poker game: a one-on-one betting pool between him and her. No boundaries in the betting, bet everything if you wanted to. Emi betted little in this game, so there was nothing severe if she lost . . . other than the opportunity to regain dominion over the body. Kisuke betted more than he could possibly promise. He had a ten and an ace in his hand, four cards (three, ten, jack, and queen) already drawn to the table. Emi was no doubt smiling. And this was where his dilemma started: should he bet it all on that final card or fold before he could sink himself deeper? If the final card was a king, then he had a Straight. If not, he got comfort in a meager pair of tens.

_Bet everything_, his thoughts whispered, _or lose everything._ To him, the two choices didn't seem different from each other.

Arriving at the center of Karakura Park, he stayed where he stood, barely fifteen paces from where Ichigo Kurosaki was down on the ground, leaking vast amounts of spiritual pressure like a broken faucet.

The Quincy, Uryuu Ishida, was also there, standing over Kurosaki's prone form. Ishida lifted his foot and placed it over Kurosaki's chest, as if he were declaring himself the victor in some kind of duel. Emi seemed to have gotten the same conclusion as he did, because she had on a very deep scowl rivaling Kurosaki's, while the hand not holding onto her nodachi was caressing the blunt side of the blade. Kisuke suddenly had a vivid image of an evil queen showing affection to her hungry pet panther before she set it loose on one innocent servant with rimless glasses. The image was quite fitting to the situation, but Emi seemed to want blood more than her blade.

Standing close to where she had stopped her flash-step was mere luck, but Kisuke still thanked his fortune. He was sure that the alter-ego of Orihime would have done something irrevocable to the Quincy if he had not put a hand on her shoulder before she could raise her blade upon the boy. She turned to him, eyes blazing like the fires of Soukyoku's phoenix form.

"Let go," she said, voice low.

Kisuke didn't comply. He kept his firm hold, and Emi tried shrugging it off. In a sense, his instincts told him to just observe and watch. From what he knew about the Quincy, he's not the type to gloat his victories like this. Something was up, and Emi did not see that.

"Look," he said, and then looked back at Kurosaki and Ishida.

Ishida raised his right hand up, the Quincy cross swinging at his wrist like a pendulum. Spiritual energy concentrated onto his hand, forming the neon blue bow which was the Quincy's pride and joy, growing bigger and bigger until it looked like it was made for a giant than a human. This event gave everyone momentary pause, even Emi, but Ishida recovered sooner and started firing arrow after arrow onto the sky. And with every arrow ejected from the giant bow, Kurosaki's reiatsu diminished.

"What are you doing?" Kurosaki asked, conscious but unable to move his body due to the pressure he couldn't control.

"Shut up," Ishida replied, not stopping his arrow shooting. "This duel isn't over, Kurosaki. And I will not just stand idly by and let you die before we even settled the score once and for all."

Kurosaki wisely kept his mouth shut as Ishida continued shooting the sky. Kisuke knew that Kurosaki would think that this attempt would save him, but the blond knew otherwise. Kurosaki released too much of his hidden potential; it would take more than sucking out his spiritual energy to power those arrows to placate his erratic spiritual core. It had opened too wide that he estimated that it would take four hours before Ishida could stop and rest. And that would take too long. Right now, Kurosaki was like a dormant super volcano, awaiting eruption if the leak in his core were not sealed up in time.

_So much uncontrolled potential_, he thought randomly, as millions of other thoughts raced through his mind. _Your son does not cease to amaze me, Isshin-san._

"I said let me go," Emi said all of a sudden, and emphasized it with a big shake of her shoulders. His hand almost lost grip, but he kept it in place. He saw that her nodachi was sheathed, so he knew that she wasn't about to pick up a fight.

"What do you intend to do?" Kisuke asked. He glanced back at the two teenagers. Ishida's left hand was bleeding, and some of the blood was already staining his polo shirt.

At this moment of distraction, Emi grabbed his hand and threw it off her shoulder. She then followed it up by a knee to the gut and an elbow to the nape. The first one connected, but Kisuke reacted swiftly enough to dodge the second strike. But she didn't continue because her attention was back on Ishida and Kurosaki. It was at that time they saw the giant bow dissipate in the air and Ishida grabbing onto his left hand in agony.

"Ishida, what's wrong?" Kurosaki asked as his reiatsu began to build up again.

Ishida was about to force out an answer, but Emi pushed him away from Kurosaki.

* * *

"Inoue!" Ichigo exclaimed, only to eat his words after seeing the scowl on her face. And those chocolate brown eyes. "Emi," he growled.

"It's nice to know I'm quite loved, cutie," she replied. She glanced at Ishida, who was busier with the severe injury he had inflicted on his left hand. Ichigo had only seen it for a moment, but there was no mistaking the loud SNAP he had heard. Ishida had broken his fingers.

"What are you going to do?" It took a little while before he came to the conclusion that he was at the mercy of Emi unless Ishida did something to stop her. He still couldn't move his body no matter how much effort he gave, and the pressure was already starting to crush his body. He didn't know what would happen if his soul were to be crushed like this. Would he die and be sent to Soul Society, or would he be erased from existence like the Hollows the Quincy had killed?

"I'm here to help." Without his consent, she started straddling him.

He mouthed 'What,' lost from the shock of feeling a certain part of her anatomy meeting with the counterpart of his anatomy, and then outwardly yelled, ". . . the fuck?!"

"Not exactly," she answered.

"That's not what I meant, I—" Again without his consent, Emi leaned close to his face until they were nose-to-nose. He could feel her breath as it blew on his dry lips. Those luscious brown eyes inviting him again into whatever depths they held, only this time Rukia was not here to stop her.

And then he felt it. The pressure within his body was gradually disappearing, as if someone had pulled off the drain's plug and the pooled up water from the running tap sank down into the drain.

"Hold still and it'll all be over soon," she said, though it sounded more of a moan than a reassuring tone.

Ichigo could do no less. He was paralyzed everywhere but his head. Their close proximity with each other was not putting him at ease.

"Good boy."

"Inoue-san," Ishida murmured, still nursing the fractured joints of his fingers. "What are you doing?"

Emi ignored him. Her fingers worked their way to Ichigo's face, touching, caressing, prodding, as if she found it very entertaining to torture him this way. It was not exactly torture but it was not a welcoming invasion of privacy either. And her soft and gentle treatments were creating an unnecessary buildup at the loins of his shinigami outfit. Not only that, Ichigo began to have this feeling that he was being sucked dry, like a vampire victim. Only it wasn't blood he was losing but spiritual energy.

"Ishida, get her off me!" he yelled, surprising both teens in his hostility.

"What do you me—"

"Just get her off!"

Ishida looked taken aback, but he didn't seem to like fulfilling the order. Probably not used to do people yelling and ordering him around like that, but Ichigo could care less about that when he was slowly losing every bit of his spiritual energy the longer Emi was having her way with him.

"Inoue-san, I ask again, what are you doing?"

Emi didn't answer. She was smiling in satisfaction, like an actual vampire reveling in the sweet taste of blood.

"Inoue-san?"

She turned to look at him. Ishida took a quick intake of breath when he saw her eyes—Ichigo had that same expression when he first saw Emi and those entrancing chocolate brown orbs—and he then narrowed his own.

"What—who are you?" he questioned, although it didn't sound as threatening as Ichigo had hoped.

"Someone special," she said, "but who's to say I'm obligated to tell you that?"

Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted when someone slid a blade next to her neck. "You heard the man. Get off before he gets pissed." Ichigo recognized that voice, vaguely. He turned his head as much as his limited body control could permit, and he was greeted with the sight of a shaggy man wearing green apparel and wooden clogs. The distinct green-and-white-striped hat he remembered him wearing was absent. It made him seem shaggy and weird, but this image was contrasted with the magnificent blade he held threateningly at the girl on top of him.

The sword's hilt was almost standard in appearance, but the bottom end of sandal-hat's sword elongated further in a diagonal direction, looking like a cross between an L and a J. At its tip was a crimson tassel, sort of like Ichigo's own tassel but fluffier and thicker. Only glancing at it, you'd think that there was no hilt guard, but upon closer inspection you'd see that the hilt guard was relatively small in comparison to the normal katana hilt guards. It was also black in color, blending in quite nicely with the hilt. Red strings were tied at the top of the guard, separating it from the brown U-shaped decoration enclosing three inches of the blade. Another decoration—it looked like a triangle key chain with a size-decreasing motif as the chain reached its tip, to Ichigo—was fastened at the side of the hilt and had the same length as the straight hilt.

Ichigo was not a man to trust in remembering people's names or faces, but the impression this shaggy person had on him was enough to warrant a slight remembrance; he knew that this man was named Urahara. He knew next to nothing about Urahara, but the man's actions seemed pretty clear with that sword of his. Was he a shinigami just like Rukia?

Emi frowned at Urahara. "Party pooper."

He, in turn, narrowed his eyes. "Off. _Now_."

The smile she showed spelled trouble, Ichigo just knew it.

And he was proven correct when Emi suddenly disappeared in a sound of static, and then reappearing behind the sandal-hat guy, her long blade drawn. She made for a clean horizontal sweep, but Urahara acted fast and intersected the slash with his own. Sparks flew as their blades met in a battle of strength and of will. Ichigo could almost hear the sound of the swords grinding against each other. The deadlock did not last long, but there was enough force in their pushes to force a short but powerful burst of wind in their presence.

Each competitor gave distance to the other as they prepared for a second wave of attack. Their grips were tight and their body language gave off precision; a simple mistake would lead to defeat. While Urahara seemed to prefer defense and tactics than a full-out attack, Emi was like an enigma. She didn't take a stance nor did she bother keeping her eyes on her enemy—a lesson Rukia had imprinted into his head with rigorous training. She just looked excited and happy, like she was enjoying the highlights of a favorite movie than fighting a tense battle . . . like she was fighting solely on the basic human instinct: survival.

They made their moves, moving in speeds that the naked eye could not comprehend. Even Ishida—bastard was too stunned to move—had a hard time keeping up. With what his eyes could not do, his ears were substituting for it. He heard the sounds of slashes, metal against metal, and the air getting sliced as the intended target dodges it in time. The sound of Urahara's clogs hitting loudly onto the pavement. The sound of their robes rattling at the gathered winds they had unexpectedly brought.

This battle was beyond Ichigo's caliber, and he was shocked to admit that if Emi had this kind of power and skill all along, then what match would he be if he had to fight her? He was weak, compared to what those two could do. And if that was how shinigami could fight—_really_ fight—then what did that say about their enemies, the Hollows? Was he just fighting weaklings, or were the shinigami actually that strong?

He had no idea. All he knew was that the paralysis put on his body was weakening, giving him access to the movement of his fingers and toes, and even if he were to be back in action, there was nothing he could do to help Urahara in this fight. Then again, he doubted he'd have the guts to fight Emi. One look would be enough to set him into the same position he had been in before.

The two escalated their battle as the sounds of slashes began to overlap each other. Static sounds were everywhere as Urahara and Emi phased in and out of Ichigo's visual perception. The wind around them was turning the place dangerous for bystanders to be around. From what Ichigo knew about physics, there seemed to be a vacuum effect as the battle continued. With the competitors going in speeds faster than the speed of air occupying empty space, the effect was the surrounding air bombarding the airless space, causing the vacuum. It was the sort of wind forming when a speeding car passes by you, only more concentrated and forceful in its approach. This was unreal. Yet it was happening right now.

"Ishida!"

The bespectacled teen did not take notice of Ichigo's call; his attention was on the fight, his eyes narrowed, trying to get a clearer view of their inhuman speed.

"Hey, Ishida," Ichigo called again, hitting the guy good in the arm for certainty.

"What?" he asked, rubbing his now sore arm.

"We need to get out of here."

A strong gust of wind came upon them. Dust filled the air. Leaves from the surrounding trees rustled and danced. Ichigo glanced back at the spot where he thought the two were battling it out, but obviously they were not there. The two combatants didn't stay in one or two spots for more than five to ten seconds; changing locations could give either of them an advantage in the environment. But this tactic was not done by Urahara, the tactician in the fight. It was Emi, who seemed to like shifting from place-to-place faster than a homeless drifter. Talk about ironic.

The heavy grind of metal sounded from above them. By now, the Hollows in the vicinity retreated along with that long-nosed giant, so the sky was clear of any obstructions. Definitely not a good strategic point if Emi wanted to gain an environmental advantage on her enemy.

Or was she?

_Just what the heck is she doing?_

But he would have to worry about her method of fighting for another time; right now, the battle escalated too high for him and Ishida to linger around in the battlefield. Ichigo didn't like retreating, but he had to think about the situation and take a look at the bigger picture. He had to believe Urahara would handle Emi by his own power, and Orihime would somehow find a way to regain control.

It seemed to be the only way.

"Come on," he said to Ishida, "let's get out of here."

Thankfully, the guy did not argue; Ichigo would've knocked him out if he protested at all. When they left the battlefield, Rukia and the sandal-hat guy's kids were waiting for them. None knew what was going on when they heard Orihime's screams.

* * *

Kisuke was calm, but also tense. Contradicting in every word, but there was no other way of explaining the feeling he had. His stance was appropriate for close-range combat and superior defense. Any enemy would be hard-pressed in trying to find an opening, so the calm came from the knowledge of safety. If anything else, he still had Benihime's ultimate shield as a last resort. But with the calm was the tension. His enemy did not have any kind of stance. But the way her body seemed to gesture a dangerous message ("Don't underestimate me; I'm really fuckin' dangerous") was enough reason for Kisuke to not make the first move. It was a mystifying feeling; it was like he was a rookie again, fighting his enemies in the best way he knew how to: forego procedure and stances and trust your knowledge and your instincts. And his instincts were screaming that dangerous message at him with a giant megaphone. There were few shinigami he had known and met who had Emi's level of confidence . . . and the power to back it up. He already had a taste of how much powerful she could be in a fight. She didn't look threatening nor was she trying to create a sense of provocation so that he would let his guard down. She just stood there, sword in hand, smiling as if this were just some game.

_It probably is to her_, he thought worriedly. _This is like a game of poker: bet everything or lose everything._

"You seem tense," Emi said, head tilting to the right, like an innocent child guessing answers. But there was nothing innocent about her smile. "Yet also calm. It's written all over your face."

Kisuke's hand gripped his sword tighter. He wasn't sure if his eyes could narrow any further. It was poker all over again, but this time his opponent could even sense his worries in the battlefield, his haven from the boring labors of human life. He thought he had the best poker face when it came to battles like this, but . . . but . . . _how_ could she read him so easily like that? How?

The winds gathered from their fight blew onto his hair. And it was here Kisuke remembered his hat and where it was.

_Yoruichi-san's going to kill me if she found out about this_, he thought grimly. _Well, it won't matter much if I end this quick. All in or fold? What's it going to be, Kisuke?_

"I'm giving you one last chance to surrender," he said. He lowered his sword to lessen the threat it posed, but he was taking a great risk on this because he'd be vulnerable to an attack. "I'm not about to kill my friend's only legacy."

Emi scoffed. "Is that all? You're halting our duel because you're still keeping that oath you made to my Father that night?"

"How did you—"

"Know about that? I already told you that little tidbit earlier, didn't I?" She giggled. "Memories are precious little things to people like you. What Father did to me and Orihime transferred fragments of his memories in the process. It was bad enough I had to get it from the one you call Tsukiyomi, but the memories were great entertainment while stuck inside here." She tapped her forehead twice. "I just took the liberty of keeping these from princess."

"What gain would that give you?"

"It is inevitable for princess to get curious about her real family and start poking her nose in dangerous places. It's more thrilling to wait and see her work so hard to search for the truth, and when she finally finds it . . . seeing her face and feeling what she'll feel once she discover what has become of Father all those years ago gives me something to greatly anticipate in the future."

"You're sick."

"Hypocritical coming from _your_ mouth, Urahara-kun. And for your offer, my answer is n—"

A pause. Eyes widening. Then she screamed bloody murder.

* * *

Orihime had succeeded. It was difficult searching for an exit, but it was more difficult trying to find a safe passage through it. Emi had been thorough about keeping Orihime inside this place and she took every precaution needed to keep it that way. But fortunate for Orihime, it wasn't thorough enough to work out the small holes in this particular exit.

She stood in front of a giant black arch. Its surface was clean and smooth, no intricate symbols to give it a bit of history. The artifact was situated in the middle of a barren plain not unlike the ground where the graveyard of swords had been in. Her travels through this strange place was something similar to what Alice had gone through when she slid down that rabbit hole and entered Wonderland. Surely there were many strange encounters during her search but this place also seemed to play around with her memories. She couldn't even remember how she got from the graveyard of swords to this place, like something was making sure that whatever she had seen other than the graveyard and this place would remain a secret. Her journey must've been full of effort because she felt exhausted. Weird, feeling tired inside her own head, but there was no other description for it.

But her journey was not the important thing. It was the outcome, the final obstacle before reaching her destination. This arch before her was an unusual sight to see inside this twilight wasteland (it wouldn't be twilight for long, however, if she didn't hurry up), and this was why she was drawn to this place. It never occurred to her that she had found the exit until she'd gotten close enough to take a better look at the upside-down U. What lay beyond the arch was the outside world seen through Emi's eyes. She didn't hear sound other than her breathing. Sight was enough for her to understand how important it was for her to retake her body quick. But it seemed Fate was against her.

Whenever she got close to the arch, she would feel her body getting numb, entering a sort of paralyzed state, before being pushed away by some unseen force. And that force pushed _hard_. Orihime had skidded on the ground and when she rose back up, sore and miserable, she realized the gap between her and the arch had increased over fifteen feet.

She tried it again and ended up with the same result, though she felt sorer now.

Seeing that simply walking towards it was not going to work at all, Orihime went for a different approach. Rukia always told her about the "mind over matter" speech in every meditation lessons. It was what kept kidou users from becoming overwhelmed over their own spiritual energy. A similar event had already occurred to Orihime, but that was immediately dealt with by unknown reasons, although Rukia had her suspicions pinned on Emi. She had said that the important thing to remember is that there is no obstacle for the mind to overcome. This was not a battle of will, but a challenge to go the distance. And those that fell before achieving that final stretch, Orihime was told, weren't able to realize their full potential in the arcane arts because their minds were not strong enough to handle the strain. The "mind over matter" exercises Rukia had taught her were nothing more than tests to learn the maximum capabilities of a kidou user. All members in the Kidou Corp. had used these exercises and completed a full cycle, and that was a feat worthy of praise for all kidou users. Orihime had only been a beginner when Rukia tested her, but both girls were surprised that she had completed a half-cycle.

It was with this thought in mind that Orihime began to recall the instructions Rukia had given her. The proper stance, the proper breathing method, the easiest ways to clear your head of random thoughts. Serenity inside Orihime's spiritual core. Meditation was propelled her into achieving this mood, the best emotional state to control spiritual energy. Distress causes spikes and blockages in the core. She had to let the energy pass through her body like water in a river, undisturbed and continuous in its powerful currents. If she were to harness this state while trying to cross the arch, then maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to regain control over the body.

But she didn't rule out Emi fighting back. Only the foolish would think so.

With the silent rhythm of her breathings continuing in a loop, Orihime had once more gained serenity, albeit temporarily. The best time she had while in this state was one minute. A lot of time to spare for just walking across an archway, but caution was needed because the problem wasn't solved yet. She didn't want to get sloppy after coming this far.

Keeping her eyes away from the images Emi saw helped in maintaining the serene state. Temptation was another block other than distress. She needed to stay focused and accidentally catching a glimpse of Ichigo's face from Emi's point of view would not help at all.

She walked towards the arch once more. There was resistance in the same spot where she knew the paralysis would take effect. An invisible barrier was standing between her and the gateway to freedom. She didn't stop; she kept walking. It felt like passing through a waterfall, the force of the barrier tried to bring down her body like gravity had tripled.

She was close to the archway. Just a few more steps and it would be over.

**_"You!"_**

But then the gravity tripled again. Orihime strained her legs to keep standing. It was not an easy task, not by a long shot, but it was either this or losing to Emi once and for all. She didn't want that. And if this was the resistance Emi would show, then she had no choice but to overcome it. Odds were against her; she didn't care. Her mind was serene, and the worries and fears were still not wrapping around her mind yet.

All she wanted was to pass through the archway.

**_"No! I won't allow it! I'm not done here yet."_**

Orihime paid little heed to the booming voice. She was close to the goal, inches away from it. Her hand touched something liquid, creating ripples on the image of the outside world. Pushing through, her hand slipped past the water-like image, and on the other side she could feel something wet but lukewarm all over her arm, as if she had plunged it into a tub filled with water.

**_"Stop! NO! Don't come any closer. Don't come any—"_**

Orihime went for the final stretch and leaped into the archway, disturbing the image greatly that the ripples had turned into splashing waves. The image dissipated, turning darker and darker, and if anyone were to able hear sounds from the world outside the archway, they would've heard the chilling shrieks of a pained teenage girl.

* * *

When Orihime came to, she found herself lying inside a futon laid out in an unfamiliar room. The layout of the place looked old and worn, but still homely in appearance. The walls were made out of a light wood while the ceiling was colored in pure white.

She rose to a sitting position, then coughed a few times. For some reason her throat burned as if she had sung a hundred high-pitched songs.

"Here," someone to her right said. She looked to that direction, heart leaping from surprise and anxiety, and realized it was only Ichigo offering her a glass of water. He looked okay, and back in his physical body, seeing that he was wearing their school's uniform than his shinigami robes.

She took the glass from him, eyed it a moment, and drank it slowly. It wasn't cold, but it was adequate in lessening the pain.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He took the now empty glass from her and set it to one side. "Urahara Shouten. You've been out for two hours."

"Two hours? What happened?"

"What was the last thing you remember?"

"I remember . . ." Her eyebrows drew together in concentration. "I remember walking towards Tatsuki-chan, who was lying on the ground. I knelt beside her, and . . . red. All I saw was red. And after that was waking up in a field of old and used swords impaled on the ground, like chipped tombstones in a long forgotten cemetery." She touched her forehead, rubbing it with three of her fingers in a caress. "I remember now. It was Emi, wasn't it."

It was not a question, just a mere stated fact they both knew. But Ichigo nodded anyway.

"What happened after I regained control?" she asked.

The sound of a sliding door reached their ears. In came the blond man with the green-and-white striped hat, Kisuke Urahara. He looked exhausted and pale.

"Perhaps it's better if I were the one to answer that one," he said, tilting his hat lower until shadows formed around his eyes. "Wouldn't you say, Kurosaki-san?"

"Y—yeah," Ichigo answered. He sounded reluctant.

Urahara slid the door closed behind him and settled himself on a spot near Orihime's right leg. Ichigo was on her left side, watching the shaggy man silently.

"When the Hollows were driven out of this realm, Emi was about to—"

"Can we skip that part, please?" Ichigo interrupted.

The other two looked at him, puzzled, more so in Orihime's case.

Urahara chuckled. "As you wish. She won't miss much of the events either way. Well, after I drew my sword against Emi, we fought each other to the best of my capabilities."

"Their movements were so fast that I couldn't even catch up to them," Ichigo added, one hand squeezing his kneecap tight. His head was looking down at the ground, and Orihime instinctively knew he was disturbed about this particular incident. She'd look on it later; Urahara was about to continue.

"It was a tough fight, let me tell you that," he said. "If I hadn't been inside this gigai, then she would've posed no threat at all."

"Wait a minute," Ichigo interrupted again, "wait just a _goddamn_ moment! You mean to tell me that you fought Emi while still in a gigai? And that gigai suppressed your powers?"

Urahara nodded. "That's correct. It was not wise to fight her like that when the stakes were quite high, but I've been merged inside this vessel for such a long time that I often forget I actually am using a gigai."

"Then that fight out there was not your best?"

"Of course not; my current power level goes way beyond that."

"How beyond are we talking about?" Orihime asked.

"Hmm . . . twenty- to twenty-five-fold, give or take."

Ichigo swallowed his next words. He seemed to prefer silence, so that his mind would have time to fully process the news about Urahara's true power level. What Urahara had failed to mention in his talk was that it had been years since he had such an intense fight as with Emi. Normally, he'd spar with Tessai every few weeks so as not to get rusty and be fallen prey to Yoruichi's ire if she ever found wind of him slacking off on training, but a controlled fight is incomparable to an actual fight, where variables that can turn the tides of battle are everywhere. Orihime and Ichigo were both ignorant to this little fact, and Urahara intended to keep it that way.

"Then what happened?" Orihime questioned, gripping the sheets of her futon harder.

"Kurosaki-san and the Quincy backed away from our fight. They were safe from harm because of that, but . . . their escape didn't mean much when everything ended less than a minute after they left."

"Quincy?"

"He meant Ishida," Ichigo clarified. "I'll tell you about it later," he added when she was about to ask something.

"Emi then screamed so loud that Kurosaki-san came back in a flash," Urahara said. "And that was the end of it. No big, final blows or anything. After the screams, your body just collapsed. At least Kurosaki-san saved you from a nasty fall."

"We carried you back here to recuperate," Ichigo added.

"_We_?" Urahara arched an eyebrow. "I quite remember you being the only one carrying Orihime-san back to this shop."

"Wait!" Orihime exclaimed. She checked herself and found she was still wearing shinigami robes. "Where's my body?"

"In the next room," Urahara said. "The Mod Soul stumbled upon it while he was searching for his 'Nee-san,' according to him."

Ichigo dug something out from his pocket. It was a green pill. "Thanks for ejecting him out, by the way," he said to Urahara.

The blond nodded. "And there's something else I forgot to tell you." He eyed both the orange-heads. "My companion Tessai picked up two interesting people when we separated from Kuchiki-san. I think you both know them well."

"Who?" Ichigo asked.

"They're asleep last I checked." He stood up and headed towards the door. "They're sleeping in the same room as where Orihime-san's body is."

With that, he left the room with an enigmatic smile on his face.

Orihime rose from bed slowly. Something glittering on the lower right side of her futon caught her eye. It was her hairpins, neat and orderly, as if they were placed by Urahara before he exited. She placed them where they belonged, although she wished she had a mirror to check if they were on right. She turned towards Ichigo, who was standing up and looking at her. When she nodded at him, he nodded back; a silent message passed between them, and they were ready to visit the next room.

They exited the first room and went to the next, waiting just outside the door. Orihime was unsure how to proceed. There was something about what Urahara said that made her nervous enough to hesitate over simply sliding open a door. She didn't know what Ichigo was feeling in that moment, but he wasn't opting to open the door either. But he seemed to have a better grasp in coping with the tense situation because he nodded at Orihime once more while his hand went for the door's handle. All he waited for was Orihime's compliance.

With a light gulp of saliva—Orihime wished she had another glass of water—she nodded, and Ichigo opened the door.

Inside was a room identical to the one Orihime had woken up in. The only difference she made out was the three futons spread out evenly on the tatami mat, the bottom side of the mattress-less beds nearest to the door. The person lying inside the futon on the left was Orihime's physical body; the one in the middle had Tatsuki; the last one, on the right, was where Sado was sitting up and examining the room he had woken up in.

"Ichigo," he said when he heard the door slid open. He turned his head slowly to the left of Ichigo where his companion was standing. "Orihime."

Both of the people Sado called stood looking surprised at him. Orihime was still in shinigami form, so it was a big shocker to learn Sado could actually see her. He hadn't been able to before, though, and that puzzled Ichigo a bit. Not for Orihime; she had already gone through the discovery with Tatsuki weeks ago.

"But . . ." Sado looked back at the futon on the other side of the room, or rather the person lying on it. "There's two of you?"

"Not exactly, Sado-kun," she replied. She walked into the room towards Tatsuki's bedside.

"How can you see her?" Ichigo asked him.

"What do you mean?"

Orihime thought for a moment whether it'd be wise to tell Sado the truth about their 'extra curriculum,' so to speak, and believed that it was the best course of action. Sado had already gotten involved by developing his spiritual sensitivity enough to see souls . . . and possibly Hollows as well. This must be why Urahara called them 'interesting.' Not only Tatsuki, but Sado must've been targeted by a Hollow, and Urahara's friend—Tessai was his name, if she remembered correctly—had been there to save the Mexican from being devoured. At least that was what she believed, but there was some kind of inner sense in her that told her a different story. Sado's spiritual powers had increased exponentially. So much that it was almost frightening to take a look at the gap between what she recalled his levels were before to what they were now.

"Kurosaki-kun, I think it's better you tell him the truth. He'll see us in the future, after all."

Ichigo looked like he had gotten to the same conclusion as she had. "Yeah," he said and began telling his fighting buddy about all the stuff Rukia had first told them, minus the colorful illustrations.

Orihime sat herself to Tatsuki's right, so that she could still have a good view of the two males in the room while she checked over Tatsuki's condition. Her breathing was normal. Her temperature, the same. She just looked tired. But her ministrations must've caused the former sleeping beauty to arouse from her slumber. Tatsuki's eyes fluttered open, and closed immediately when they came into contact with the light source of the room.

"Tatsuki-chan," Orihime said, grateful that her best friend was fine after what they had both been through during the past few hours.

Tatsuki groaned. She rose from her futon, pushing the blankets that it only covered her hips and down. She was shaking her head, a habit of hers whenever she first wakes up. Orihime knew that Tatsuki was never a morning person, and only a good cup of coffee or tea could make her one-hundred percent aware of her surroundings.

"Tatsuki-chan," she said again, hoping to get a reply, but there was none. Tatsuki was blinking her eyes rapidly and groaned again.

"I feel like I've been run over by a freight train," Tatsuki murmured, rubbing off the sleep from her eyes. She looked to her left, away from Orihime. "Ichigo, Sado? What are you two doing here?"

"Orihime will explain," Ichigo said, pointing to said girl.

"Orihime?" Tatsuki turned around. Her eyes widened. "Orihime!"

Without warning, she shoved the rest of her blanket down and scooted out. Orihime expected Tatsuki to hug her out of worry, but she was most surprised when Tatsuki went past her and towards the futon where her body laid.

"Orihime," Tatsuki said. Then to Ichigo: "Is she gonna be okay?"

Ichigo smacked his forehead. "Right. Forgot she can't see ghosts at all."

"That's not true!" Orihime exclaimed, escaping her momentary shock. "I've—I've told Tatsuki-chan the truth weeks ago; back when Kon-kun kidnapped your body."

"What? Why'd you do that?"

"Do what? And I, too, can see ghosts," Tatsuki said.

"She's right. She had been able to see me and I had no choice but to tell her everything," Orihime said.

"Well, why isn't she seeing you _now_?" Ichigo asked.

"Seeing who exactly?" Tatsuki questioned, confused over what was going on.

Sado felt as if he was fading in the background, so he answered Tatsuki's inquiry to contribute something into the conversation. "Orihime is right there." He pointed to where Soul Orihime was.

"But Orihime is right . . ." Tatsuki paused. "Right . . ." She looked towards the spot where Sado had pointed. "Orihime?"

Not knowing what else to do, Orihime crawled near Tatsuki and grabbed her tense shoulders. She was surprised by the contact, but this only assured Orihime's suspicions that something was wrong.

"Orihime? Is that really you?"

Orihime couldn't say a thing. Her words could no longer reach her best friend's ears.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

The thing about Ishida breaking his fingers because of the inhuman amount of spiritual energy put into his bow is an AU event. It is not canon, but who's to say AUs should be faithful followers of canon? It was just something to further develop the relationship (_platonic_, people, P-L-A-T-O-N-I-C) between Orihime and Uryuu. While Uryuu always seems to have a soft spot when it comes to Orihime in the series, the change in perspective, so to speak, makes this soft spot harder to detect in this story. It's probably microscopic in size. Who knows?


	23. Downward Spiral

Date written: 26/02/10 – 30/03/10

Posted on FanFiction: 30/03/10

A/N: The academic year has finally ended, and I am back in the game. Princess of Death's first year anniversary is coming soon, and I hope to release a new chapter by then. I'm not making any promises, seeing that I'm now busy looking out for some mags where I can sell some of my short stories off to.

Anyway, this chapter's main concern is trying to give the readers a recap of the main plot so far, at least concerning Orihime and Emi, and make sure that I'm not leaving any of them confused because the explanations were not clear enough to fully understand the whole situation. I hope this chapter is more than adequate to fill in the blanks for all of you.

I think some people were wondering about last chapter's afterword and the comment I made about Orihime and Uryuu's platonic relationship. Truth is that I wasn't thinking straight when I added that in; I've been thinking a bit too far ahead of myself that I once thought that I already wrote the part about Orihime and Uryuu sitting down and having a small heart-to-heart talk. This chapter will address that scene now.

On another note, I finally decided on a perfect theme song for Emi. Ichigo has "News from the Front," by Bad Religion; Orihime has "T'en va pas," by Elsa. So Emi will have "Das Böse," by E Nomine. _Das Böse_ means "The Evil" in German.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 23 ---**

**Downward Spiral**

"You found it?" Kisuke asked, while making sure that the room they were in was secure and free of any eavesdroppers.

"Yes," was the simple reply from the black cat sitting on the purple pillow an arm's length away from Kisuke's front. The cat yawned. "It wasn't hard, actually, considering the cleanup we did while searching through your library before."

An object lay between him and Yoruichi. It was an old Sony minicorder, still neat and good-looking, and was about to be put to good use. "Right, let's get started with the report." Kisuke pressed the RECORD button and the little red light of the device blinked to life.

This little conference was created after Kisuke came back with some unexpected visitors. He asked Yoruichi to search for his old minicorder while he see to their guests. Yoruichi normally was not a woman to be ordered around, but dire situations required amazing tolerance, and she was the right woman to deliver this trait. Besides, she'd get Kisuke back sometime in the future.

When Yoruichi had asked about the purpose of this conference, the only answer Kisuke could give was "to archive special events and information." Well, that wasn't exactly the biggest hint to give, but it had foundations to which Yoruichi started on while she waited for Kisuke to come to this room. Strangely, most, if not all, of what she'd consider as 'special stuff' had Orihime—and Emi—in it. He often talked about his worries over the supposed daughter of Kisuke's best male friend in the Gotei 13, so maybe this report was for him to organize all the information they had gathered about her so far. She wondered why he didn't do this sooner.

With this and the events that played out today in mind, Yoruichi started the report with a question. "What do you we know about Orihime as of now?"

"She's the daughter of my best friend and I'm not allowed to tell her anything about him."

"And why is that so?" Yoruichi knew only the basic rundown of what happened sixteen years ago, when Orihime's father—the one Kisuke nicknamed Spaceman—came to Kisuke's shop and asking for help one final time. The man was never seen again.

"Because he believed that it was better for his daughter to be in the dark of what he was and what was after him; said that if fate permits her lineage to arise, then his daughter will handle whatever came her way."

"Even if he had good intentions, that didn't stop her from becoming a shinigami, though."

"It's in her blood, whether she wished for it or not. And there's also the matter of what Emi revealed to me today."

Yoruichi kept quiet.

"We both know what Emi really is, and how dangerous she can be to Orihime-san. I do not know what Spaceman did to her, but it stopped Emi from devouring Orihime-san's soul from the inside."

"But Emi seems to have a more firsthand control over the body than the others who have a similar condition to hers."

"That's because they weren't born with the condition. Neither was Spaceman, and he's the one who suffered the most."

"Born with it?"

"I was as surprised as you are when I first discovered it. Those brown eyes of hers . . . they looked too much like Spaceman's alter-ego to be a mere coincidence, not to mention the similar powers the two alter-egos possessed."

"Back to the subject, what did Emi say to you?"

"She said that she had succeeded in devouring a part of Orihime-san's soul, more specifically the part where the spirit of her zanpakuto resided."

If Yoruichi were surprised, she didn't show it. "Then what sword was she carrying all this time, an empty vessel?"

"No, it's a zanpakuto like any other shinigami's. But there's a twist in that."

"How so?"

"Remember I told you before that Spaceman did something to cure Emi's parasitic tendencies when Orihime-san was still an infant, right?"

She nodded.

"I'm only theorizing this, but it looks to be the most plausible one. Anyway, I believe that when Spaceman discovered the curse he possessed was passed on to his daughter, he acted too late on it and in consequence Emi was able to eliminate the only threat in her taking over, Orihime-san's shinigami heritage.

"But Spaceman didn't give up. He must've found a way to put a stop to it, but in order to do that he had to sacrifice himself to do it."

"Sacrifice?"

"Tell me, Yoruichi-san, do you know who kept Spaceman's other persona, Aros, in line?"

"Tsukiyomi, his zanpakuto's spirit."

"Correct, and what do you think should he do now that Emi had devoured Orihime-san's zanpakuto's spirit?"

Her eyes widened. "Impossible. That's just impossible."

"Not with what he asked of me. There is but one device inside my inventory to have such an ability, passing on the spirit of a zanpakuto to another soul."

"Then what you're telling me is that the zanpakuto Orihime is wielding is actually Tsukiyomi, her father's zanpakuto?"

"Yes and no. Something must've happened after the transfer. Evolution, maybe? But if that was really Tsukiyomi, then it definitely felt and acted different than what I remember."

"Which are?"

"For one thing, if you can remember, Tsukiyomi is not a nodachi. It had always been the length of a normal katana with its circular hilt guard having the engravings of a crescent moon, a half moon, a full moon, and a new moon in each of its quadrants. Orihime's hilt guard looked like that of her hairpins—"

"Or the sun," she interrupted.

"Yes, the sun. This isn't really a weird change because other shinigami had been able to alter their zanpakuto to further enhance their swordsmanship." He gestured at his cane. "Or to catch enemies by surprise. But that's in the case of veteran shinigami, like myself; Orihime hasn't even drawn her zanpakuto at all when the changes were made. And that's what's alarming."

"I see your point. Do you think it had something to do with what _he_ did?"

"Spaceman had an indirect involvement. I'd say that it was Orihime and Tsukiyomi who made the changes."

"Spiritual adaption, you mean?"

"Exactly. The device had never been field tested on transferring spirits of zanpakuto before, so I can only hypothesize that the side effect of such an operation would be that the spirit has to adapt to its new environment, which includes a new look and powers."

"The moon converting into the sun, eh. Wonder which is stronger."

Kisuke grinned. "Only time will tell, I say. But these adaptions of new powers are based on a template."

"So that means Orihime's original zanpakuto spirit has the same kind of look and powers?"

"In speculation, yes."

"If Orihime has a new zanpakuto spirit, so to speak, what about her father?"

"What else? Aros must've taken over, but if I were Spaceman I would've ended my life before that happened."

"I see. Moving on, what do you intend to do with the two humans sleeping in the other room?"

"Both exhibited potential in harnessing spiritual powers. Tessai told me that the foreigner had powers that almost felt like a Hollow, though it only affected his right arm. The girl, however—there's no way in telling, but I think Emi had done something to drain over half of her spiritual sensitivity. It's that, or maybe when she used Misato's hairpins it had done the same thing."

"Misato?"

"Orihime's biological mother. Spiritually sensitive. Much like Isshin's wife, Masaki."

"And how did she come across these hairpins?"

"Spaceman must've invented them to protect her. But now that both are gone, it passed on to Orihime."

"Hmm. If you think that the human girl no longer has the ability to see ghosts, then why bring her here too?"

"She's apparently Orihime-san's best friend. And I wanted to bring her in for some testing if there were any more side effects done by Emi . . . or the hairpins."

"Orihime and Ichigo won't like that."

"I know. That's why I had done it while Kurosaki-san was watching over Orihime-san while she slept."

"Sly, but try not to overstep your boundaries. One false move and you will lose their trust."

"And Kurosaki-san and Orihime-san are probably the only people to stop Aizen from getting what he wants."

"Now we're losing track of the report. Aizen is not involved . . . yet, at least."

Kisuke sighed. "But who are we to deny a little foreshadowing? We both know that Soul Society will not ignore the appearance of a Menos Grande in this town, the same town where one shinigami hadn't reported in for weeks. Aizen will surely take this chance."

"But you're still not sure if he knows where you hid the damn thing."

"I know he knows. Hard to believe, but it has to be true."

"All right. We'll prepare for the worst, if it comes to that. Now back to the main topic, what are we going to do with Orihime if she shows signs of getting overwhelmed by her dark persona?"

"She has a strong will, just like her father. It's a shame I didn't give her enough credit before. But I trust she can keep Emi in a leash and not the other way around. And Tsukiyomi can help her along the way."

"She doesn't even know the name of her zanpakuto, yet, Kisuke. Are you sure about this?"

He smiled at the cat, a smile she was familiar with. It was a sign of possible trouble, when her memories of their childhood were evidence to that. "If it botches, you can blame it all on me."

"I'd say before, you were underestimating Orihime; now I think you're _over_estimating her. The odds could be better if Orihime were to know shikai already, though."

"And we'll get that chance to teach her if we have to."

"Rukia Kuchiki's impending arrest, I take it?"

"It's inevitable, and both Kurosaki-san and Orihime-san are not prepared to face the strength of a true shinigami. Not yet, anyway."

"What do we do when they do come for Rukia?"

"Do?" He shook his head and crossed his arms. "We're in hiding, Yoruichi-san. We'd be alerting the higher-ups of Chamber Forty-six if we act now. It's too risky to act right now since Aizen has a better chance of getting his hands on the Hogyoku, but if we can play our cards right, then Aizen will have to find another way to acquire what he wants. Besides, the Hogyoku is already embedded in Kuchiki-san's soul that an extraction of it will be a long and painful process."

"And time is against us," Yoruichi added, nodding solemnly. "This is a tough game we're playing, Kisuke."

"Who said we're playing it by our own rules, though?"

"How long do you think Rukia has before Soul Society sends in a retrieval team?"

"No more than a day. Tomorrow will be Kuchiki-san's last day with Kurosaki-san and Orihime-san. And she knows this as well."

Yoruichi became silent for a while. In truth, she was processing the new information and the modified old ones, trying to pick out things they might've missed for their unorthodox debriefing.

"Kuchiki-san will be captured even if she tries to go into hiding," Kisuke stated. "Aizen will have his opportunity to steal the Hogyoku when she receives her sentence."

"The Chamber Forty-six won't listen to reason; they're the same people that have condemned you and Tessai without listening to your side."

"Aizen has those bureaucrats in the palm of his hand. He had all of Soul Society fooled with his illusions, us included. I'm certain he's more than capable of doing it again. He's the kind of guy who can bluff his way out of anything and then some."

"But you have a plan to try and stop him from obtaining that little ball of trouble?" She meant the Hogyoku.

"Probably." He went into a thinking pose. "There are too many variables to pinpoint an exact result to this. And there's still the matter of putting most, if not all, the pieces together first. You can't solve a problem this big if you don't have something to help guide you."

"What do you have in mind?"

Kisuke pressed the STOP button, and the little red light of the minicorder died. "I can't tell you yet. Unless we unlock Orihime-san's shikai, I think this plan will be all for nothing in the end."

Yoruichi closed her eyes and respected her childhood friend's decision. Sometimes she wished she could do more than just stand idly around like some freeloader, but she was only good in teaching and fighting. Fighting was not much of an option, but training sure was. But she wouldn't make a move until Kisuke did first. He was the brains of the operation; the chess master, so to speak. She could wait and bide her time. For now, Orihime's ascension to stronger powers would have to wait as well.

* * *

Tatsuki could only see a wall. When Ichigo and Sado had pointed out where Orihime actually was (rather, where her soul was), she didn't see any other thing but that lifeless wall. There was no sight of orange or the black garments she had seen her wear. Just the wall.

She felt slender hands resting on her shoulders. Their contact was light that it was almost like it was her own karategi pressing down on her. But she knew it was Orihime—albeit invisible to her eyes—because she could feel the texture of her fingers contracting to get a better grip, and probably to verify her existence to her.

"Orihime, is that really you?"

Tatsuki didn't see it; she just had this feeling that Orihime nodded her head. She didn't know what to think of this predicament. Here was her best friend in shinigami form, yet for some reason she couldn't see her anymore.

"What happened?" she asked no one. Her eyes were downcast, as if pondering over the strange situation as well.

The weight on her shoulders retreated. Peering at Ichigo's and Sado's eyes, she kept track of where they were looking. She looked to her right. The futon where Orihime's body laid was shifting by some invisible force. The blankets were drawn back and her orange hair at the base of her neck moved. Slowly her body rose and in a few short seconds, her eyes fluttered open. And those silver gray eyes turned towards Tatsuki.

"Tatsuki-chan," Orihime said, eyes filled with bewilderment.

She looked away. Even if her best friend were to display those eyes to her, she wasn't the one with the answers. This whole situation was way beyond her knowledge. Orihime only gave her the basic rundown about her supernatural duties—a shinigami comes to the real world and guides lost souls to heaven before evil spirits called Hollows come and eat them or turn them into one of them—but when it came to consulting humans gaining sight that went beyond the natural order of things, either of them would just choke and stutter before ending with a plausible, if highly unlikely, answer to it.

She considered turning to Ichigo for help in this, but it seemed the orange-head was as confused as his fellow orange-head. Sado looked to be the same, though he hid it better than all three of them.

Okay, so let's make things a little clearer. One: she could no longer see ghosts, but she couldn't be sure if this was permanent or just a temporary relapse from what had happened at school. Then again, maybe the seeing-ghosts thing was the temporary one. Two: the four of them were currently inside some tatami room, with three of them resting on futon. Sado looked like he hadn't moved out of his place in the futon, and she just woke up while Orihime's soul was somewhere with Ichigo before that. She had to know where they were first.

When she asked the two, Ichigo was the one to answer her questions. From where they were to the condition of the other students in the school were, to which she was glad that they were mostly unharmed. She tried to ask Ichigo more about their location, but he didn't give out much other than the name of the shop they were in, Urahara Shop, and the proprietor of said shop.

Tatsuki wanted to stretch her legs a bit, but Orihime told her under no circumstances that she would strain herself. She had just gotten through a tough ordeal that might've done more than just removed her ability to see ghosts, so it was best that she got some rest a little more. Tatsuki tried to worm her out of this—she didn't like being bedridden when she felt like she was more than able to stand back up—but Orihime today was like an overprotective mother hen who would stop at nothing until she got her way. Needless to say, Tatsuki had to reluctantly comply with her best friend's orders, at least to ease her worries.

Ichigo and Sado wisely stayed away from the conversation. Anything they said would probably be used against them, although Ichigo looked like he might've thought about backing Orihime up when Tatsuki seemed adamant in her desire to get out of this room. Sado didn't voice any bit of his opinion over this situation and just quietly sat back and let others do the talking; she would've thought of him as lazy, but realized that it was just his nature to be quiet and contemplative. She had to admit, the Mexican could be quite insightful at times due to that trait of his.

There was a knock on the door before a tall figure that towered even Sado's height entered the room, peering at the three futon laid out. He was wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses, so Tatsuki didn't know what kind of expression his eyes were making out as they scanned the people in the room. She instinctively went into a defensive pose, but subtle enough that none of the others would notice. The new guy did, however, and he raised his hand as if to say he meant no harm.

"I see that all the guests are awake," the giant said. "If it's not much trouble for you to move, dinner is to be served in the dining room just down the hall."

The mention of dinner caused an echoing growl to erupt in the room. Tatsuki already knew where it came from while the three men looked around. And true to what she suspected, Orihime was sitting next to her, scratching the back of her head with an embarrassed giggle.

Tatsuki tried to stand up, but Orihime pushed her back onto the futon. "I'll just bring your dinner here," she said.

Tatsuki sighed. Orihime could be stubborn sometimes.

* * *

"Ah! Kurosaki-san, please take a seat." Urahara motioned the teen towards a space at one side of the table. The two kids, Jinta and Ururu, were already sitting and waiting for the others to come, though Jinta looked pissed that he had to wait before he could dig in. "You too, Sado-san."

Chad nodded, a little reserved from the hospitality of strangers. Ichigo couldn't blame him for keeping his guard up. Plus, that smile on the sandal-hat's face was giving off some very bad vibes that he wanted nothing more than to punch the living hell out of him.

Orihime asked Urahara if she could deliver Tatsuki's share to her room. Urahara said yes and motioned for Tessai to fetch the girl a tray.

Ichigo seated himself on the floor just like the others. He didn't mind much about what they were having, but there was some kind of nagging feeling in his head that said something was missing in this picture. Ever since they arrived to this place and he waited for Orihime to wake up, that feeling didn't go. Even when Orihime left the room with a tray of food and when Urahara announced that it was time to eat, it didn't go.

He shrugged it off. If it had been important, he would've had a revelation by now. Maybe it was just overstress or probably his own hunger. With that in mind, he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.

It wasn't until after dinner that he had his revelation: Rukia and Ishida were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Uryuu heaved an agitated sigh as he tried to take his mind off the pain in his hand. He had forgotten about the consequences of overloading a Quincy bow with too much spiritual energy. That was a mistake an amateur would've done, and it blew an even bigger part of his pride. To think he of all people would make a simple mistake as overloading their own bow when he had the ability to redirect the residual energy to the air instead of concentrating it all on his hand. Due to that, he had to suffer the consequences by letting his fingers heal on their own without the use of spiritual healing techniques; doing so would just worsen the injury since their high exposure to potent spiritual energy made them sensitive to it, at least for a few days. But even then, there would be long-lasting side effects.

When his grandfather had still been teaching him the ways of the Quincy, he had been strict in making Uryuu follow every damn rule there was to know about handling the bow of the Quincy. He was strict about these because if a Quincy were to not follow them, then they were as good as dead before launching their first arrow. One of those rules happened to be not to overload them. If Grandfather Souken had seen him then, he would've been disappointed in his brash move. But at the same time, Uryuu knew he would've said that he was proud of him risking his life for another's.

"Ishida-kun?"

Uryuu turned around, surprised to see Orihime standing at the door that was left ajar and carrying a tray of food. He had declined Tessai's offer of dinner; he wasn't hungry and he doubted he could eat without help because of his injured hand. Still, that didn't explain why Orihime would be here. When he said no dinner he _meant_ no dinner.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. He sensed actual worry from her, which left him in a difficult position.

He wanted to be alone to ponder over what had been said and done a few hours ago, but how long would that take? He had been at this for the better part of the hour. And he still hadn't come to a conclusion as to where his relationship with shinigami would stand. He also had to think about the consequences of his pride getting the better of him. Because of the release of that unstable Hollow bait—he was certain it was unstable—he had endangered almost all the inhabitants of the city. If it hadn't been for the combined efforts of the spiritually gifted people living in this rundown shop, then there would've been a massive panic over the probable high death toll today.

Going back to the girl's inquiry, he nodded at her. When he was sure his message was sent, he added, "I already told Tessai-san that I'm not hungry. I usually eat supper at nine."

She glanced down at the tray, then back at him. She opened her mouth, about to say something, but she bit her lip as if in debate whether to say it or just hold her tongue. In the end, she chose the latter. But that didn't mean she had left him alone to ponder for longer.

Orihime fully opened the door, placed the tray on a nearby table, and came closer to where he sat.

Uryuu didn't feel comfortable inside a stranger's home, so he opted settling in the house's store. It was dark and he was quite sure that one of the items on the shelf had already gone bad, but he needed quiet and this place was as good as any. Everybody else didn't seem to mind his seclusion; he found it more comforting to be just a few steps away from exiting the premises. Rather, it was like he had issues staying here to heal his wounds when he had this feeling he didn't belong here. He was the one who unleashed the Hollow bait. He was the one who endangered the lives of many people because he pitted his pride with a higher value than them. So why was he here, healing his hand on his own when he could've gone to his home where he practically had a complete supply of first-aid for the injury, not only for physical wounds but also spiritual ones?

_Maybe it's because I have an obligation to apologize . . ._

Probably . . . yes, apologize. But to whom?

"Is your hand okay?" Orihime asked, noticing his bandaged hand.

Her spoken words distracted his thoughts, and he answered her without pause, without thinking over it. "I may not be able to hold a bow again as precise and unwavering as before, but at least it's not as severe as I first thought at the time."

"I don't remember our school having an archery club," she mused, putting a forefinger to her lip and tilting her head to one side. He had to admit that pose made her look undeniably cute. "Or maybe you were referring to a hair bow . . . or a bow tie. Were you thinking of mending Rin-sempai's hair bow when she commented on it during the last meeting of the handicrafts club?"

Okay, she just ruined the moment. But why did she sound clueless?

"I was talking about my Quincy bow, obviously," he said, sounding more condescending than he realized. It was hard to immediately adjust when he appointed her as one of the people he hated before his epiphany.

"Quincy? What's that?"

He cocked his eyebrow. "Didn't Kurosaki tell you?" He paused, mulled the question, and said, "No, I'm sure he didn't."

"How did Kurosaki-kun get involved in this?"

Uryuu shook his head; he didn't want to answer that. "You'll just have to ask Kurosaki that yourself. I have no idea what he was thinking, but my guess is that he was doing it to protect you."

"I don't need any more protecting," she said, looking disappointed. "I can take care of myself, and . . . I don't want to burden him."

"Maybe that's just his way," he replied.

"Yeah . . . maybe."

He kept quiet. The atmosphere was tense, he knew that much, but he was never really a social person, so breaking the ice was not his forte. Unless it pertained to business and very serious issues, he was treading in uncharted territory without a map and a compass.

"Is there a reason why you're here, by the way?" Orihime asked.

Here he was, thinking over that question a few moments ago, and now Orihime was just as curious as him about his current behavior. "To apologize, I guess," he said, not sure what else he could say other than that.

"Have you?"

"No, not yet. Honestly, I don't even know who I should apologize to. It's like I can't walk away from this place until I do."

"Then why not start with what you feel?"

"Huh?" He turned to look at her.

She smiled at him, a smile he wouldn't mind seeing every day. It brightened him up, somehow, gave him reassurance that what he was doing was worth it in the end.

"You won't leave here until you apologized to that person, because this is what your feelings tell you, correct?" she asked, to which he nodded. "Then the only thing you can rely on for now is what you're feeling. Take it from there and it'll eventually lead you to that person."

"I see." He looked away, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. That smile was getting to him; he was sure he was blushing. It was better for her not to notice.

"Ishida-kun, does it still hurt?" She was referring to his injured hand.

"A little, but nothing I can't handle. It was my own stupidity that got me into this predicament."

"If you want, I can heal you," she offered, brushing a hand on one of the hairpins attached to the hair atop her ears. "It'll be good as new, I promise."

Uryuu didn't know how to proceed with that, but surely agreeing wouldn't do any harm. At least . . . he hoped so.

"If you're sure," he said, pausing for a moment, which was also a moment of hesitance, "then I guess I'll take you up on your offer." He extended his injured hand to her.

She gently took his hand and examined the wrapped bandages. It was taken off slowly, and Uryuu was grateful for that. When the last wrapping was off, she touched one of her hairpins and called, "Shun'uo, Ayame."

Her hairpins lit like a Christmas tree, causing him to close his eyes until the light subsided. What he saw were two fairy-sized people floating in mid-air.

"It's good to see you again, Orihime-sama," the fairy in red commented, a foxy smile on her face.

"Nice to see you again too, Shun'uo-chan, Ayame-chan," Orihime greeted.

The other fairy blushed, nodded, and hid her face inside that umbrella-like clothing of hers.

"Okay. Souten Kisshun, I reject."

The two fairies were bathed in a yellow glow before they shifted towards his hand, where they created some kind of barrier that enclosed it. And he just watched before his eyes as the pain gradually dulled and the permanent damages wrought onto his fingers were disappearing like ashes being blown by the wind. Within that time when Orihime had begun her unique kind of healing to Uryuu's hand, it did not occur to Uryuu until much later that what Orihime used was most definitely a type of spiritual healing. And that would leave him bewildered because his hand did not react violently as it should since it was still sensitive to anything spiritual.

When she was done, the fairies returned to their original form, flying back to where they belonged. She then stood up, said that she still needed to bring Tatsuki her dinner, and walked away.

She almost got away without hearing his gratitude. "Inoue-san," Uryuu blurted after his initial inspection of the healing done to his hand. It was as if the injuries were never there in the first place. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Ishida-kun." She smiled as she picked up the tray.

"And could you tell Kurosaki I'm sorry."

Her smile felt as if it had showered even more warmth towards him. "I will. Don't worry."

She made for the door, but it seemed Uryuu wasn't quite finished yet.

"Inoue-san."

She looked over her shoulder.

He took a deep breath, both fists clenched, and he poured almost every regret he had from all the wrongs he gave her with just two words: "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Ishida-kun," she said.

"But—"

"I never hold grudges. And I know that you didn't mean it when you said you hated me. It just took me too long to notice."

"Inoue-san . . ."

"Friends?"

He almost reconsidered—_almost_. It would take a while before he could adapt to the new leaf he had turned. But that smile took away the doubt, and he answered her truthfully, "Yes. Friends."

* * *

Rukia knew that her cover was blown. That Menos Grande was enough of a reason for Soul Society to send in a scout team to evaluate the extent of the damages brought on by it and its Hollow horde. But only she knew that the scout team had _two_ objectives in the Real World. The other objective was to seek her out and learn the reason for her silence during the past few weeks.

She hated to admit it but things had spiraled down farther than she realized, and there was no way for her to climb back up without major repercussions. With her past actions already considered a breach of protocol, her sentence would no doubt escalate to the top if the scout team found out about Ichigo. Not only would the teen be killed, she would as well for her heinous act of giving a human the powers of a shinigami. She didn't know about Orihime's case, but she was certain the team would just consider her a part of Rukia's shinigami-turned-human offense and kill her like Ichigo.

At the moment, she was in a bind. She contemplated going to hiding, at least until the heat died down enough so she could show her face in public again. Urahara seemed to have no trouble doing that; why not her? But that was only wishful thinking. She didn't have Urahara's vast knowledge in the world of espionage and tactical outmaneuvering. He had been evading Soul Society's radar for the better part of the century, and that was when technology was still primitive and inaccurate. She was left at a great disadvantage, and the best she could hope for before Soul Society found her was a few days of in the run. The fact remained that she was merely delaying the inevitable; they'd catch her whether she hid or not, so what was the point?

The real point would have to be keeping Ichigo's and Orihime's existence a secret from Soul Society. She didn't want to put the two teens to their deaths all because of _her_ transgressions.

_But what to do?_ she thought as she gazed at the dark sky where the luminous crack had sealed itself back up. The stars were shining brightly tonight, but they did little to remove Rukia's somber mood. Lying here on the roof of Urahara Shouten, thinking over what exactly she should do for tomorrow, she couldn't feel any more lost than she was now.

_Maybe it's best to just go with the flow. As it is, I don't think there's a good plan to think of._

She stuck to that thinking all through the night. When it was time for Ichigo and her to go back home, she didn't say anything to him and he did the same. Did he know her predicament? Did Urahara tell him?

_No,_ Rukia thought,_ because if he did he would've been more verbal than this. Ichigo is never one to just give up just because the odds are very much against him. He'd fight to the death if he had to. A fight I don't want him to get into._

But as much as Rukia would try to keep Ichigo safe from harm, some part of her already knew that his death was also inevitable. And it became clear as day when the scouting team came for her tomorrow night, where Ichigo laid there dying with Orihime embracing him close, and Rukia, who could do nothing but close her eyes and never look back, grieved over the impending death of the man she was proud to call a friend.


	24. She Who Has Gone

Date written: 01/04/10 – 09/04/10

Posted on FanFiction: 11/04/10

A/N: Even if one of my reviewers, **PrincessOfHeartsNYP**, had initially believed I am a woman due to my choice of protagonist (and probably the female majority of the fanfiction community), I have no experience whatsoever in regards to women's conversation (I'd like to call it a conference). This way of thinking may have sprung up from something stereotypical, but every time I try to initiate the women's convo in this chapter, I _always_ have this feeling that it lacked something in it. It's probably just paranoia similar to how Hermione Granger feels before being given OWL results . . . that, or I really did botch up the whole convo.

Onto more manga-related matters (Up to Chapter 399: DEICIDE): With the current development of the fight on Aizen escalating, I had this thought in my head. I mean we all know Isshin has black hair (which Karin inherited) and Masaki, his wife, has dirty blonde hair (which Yuzu inherited), but where does Ichigo get his bright orange hair? You can hit me now for being so goddamn retarded. Ow... you didn't have to hit that hard, people. Anyway, with all this stuff Aizen started talking about with Ichigo before the "interference" (spoiler censoring for those who haven't read the latest manga chapters), it led me to wondering if Ichigo was adopted or something. The chances have gone up a bit. Or maybe Isshin is not the real father, but Ichigo's still Masaki's firstborn. And now I'm starting to believe Isshin is (or was) part of the Zero Division; not only from his raw display of power but that shoulder piece of his must be an indicator of his rank, since no other captain seems to possess it.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 24 ---**

**She Who Has Gone**

On the next morning, Orihime awoke with a sense of alienation at her surroundings. Probably a case of her mind still half-asleep since she was lying on her bed and inside her own apartment. It was not as if there was something missing in her simple abode, but the feeling seemed to come more from within her. She didn't know why this was so, but it didn't stop her from continuing on with her day. Scanning her apartment once more just to be sure there wasn't anything amiss, her eyes fell upon a small device placed on the center of her work desk. Urahara had given it to her before she and the others left his shop. He said it was something she could use to instantly 'go shinigami,' as he put it, since he (or anyone else, for that matter) didn't want a repeat of the incident in Karakura High School. The man seemed inclined to help them in more ways than one, almost like a Good Samaritan.

After the whole fiasco yesterday, Urahara had shown his genius to her and Ichigo by making the school look good as new; the windows that were broken looked like they were before the incident, and the student body that had been there to help with the mess did not remember a thing. Just the way it should be.

She rose from her bed, stretching her arms out as the morning greeted her with not only the sun's basking light but also the soothing melody of the morning birds singing and tweeting from outside her window. After finishing up her morning rituals and some breakfast (natto with strawberry jam), she made her way to school, but doubled back after forgetting to bring the device Urahara gave her. She and Tatsuki met close to the school and walked there together. Neither said much this morning, which was odd since they often had something to talk about.

Orihime took the silence between them as a worrying sign. Her best friend had just been in a life-or-death situation yesterday that might've left her with some emotional scars after seeing whatever horror she had seen. Not only that, there was also the matter of her spiritual sensitivity mysteriously disappearing. Urahara had told her and Ichigo that the loss of Tatsuki's spiritual power might've been the result of her using Orihime's Shun Shun Rikka, and if that wasn't enough to deal with, he also believed that Emi had a hand in this. Orihime wasn't sure what to think of it. Sure she was sad that Tatsuki could no longer connect deeply with her as before, but that also meant she would no longer be involved in any of the dangers. One incident where Tatsuki used her hairpins to take care of a threat, leaving her physically and spiritually exhausted afterwards, was enough for her to decide that. Though it pained Orihime to think of it, she was actually glad that this happened to her best friend. Even if it seemed like an Ichigo-ish way of protecting someone, somehow she felt that this was the best course of action to do.

And that made her wonder if Ichigo felt the same way about her whenever he tried to push her out of danger . . .

They arrived at school in time, and Orihime resisted the urge to hug Chizuru and say that she was glad the redhead was okay. Ditzy as Orihime was, something pulled her back before she could make a very _big_ mistake by hugging the school's most open lesbian without preamble. Tatsuki would surely understand her action, but the others wouldn't, especially Chizuru, who would take the hug the wrong way. So as they passed her by with just a simple "Good morning," there was nothing worthwhile to take note as they entered their classroom and went to their respective seats. Orihime glanced over Ichigo's seat, finding it empty. Rukia was nowhere to be found, either, but Sado was in his seat, as was Ishida. Both males gave a small nod her way, to which she nodded back with a small smile.

Ichigo and Rukia arrived just before the first school bell rang, signaling homeroom. Ochi-sensei did the roll call and quickly left, and soon it was just another day in school as first period arrived. During the ten minute break before the next period started, Orihime went to ask Ishida if his hand was still okay.

"It's fine, Inoue-san," he answered, pushing back his glasses. His nonplussed expression never quivered. "Thank you again."

Her cheeks blushed pinkly. "It was no biggie." She gave him a smile before she sauntered back to her seat. Their exchange did not go unnoticed by some of the more . . . observant students in the class. They held their tongues for the moment; they had all the time in the world to learn the truth at lunch.

* * *

"Why did you invite me, Kurosaki?" Ishida asked.

Ichigo, Ishida, Chad, Keigo, and Mizuiro were currently on the school's rooftop, eating the lunch Keigo bought with all the money he had in his pockets. He murmured about being ripped off, but he didn't voice it out too loudly to everyone. Good thing, too, because Ichigo was not in the mood for his bitching.

"No reason," Ichigo answered before taking a bite from his melon bread. "I just felt like it."

"If it's because you feel sorry for me, then there is no need." His tone was almost condescending—_almost_. "I happen to like eating lunch alone."

He wanted to say that he was the same, but that didn't seem to be a good reply. "Then try eating lunch with people for once. See if you like it better than your old routine." Ichigo suddenly felt hypocritical.

"Why do you care?" Not wanting to look rude to Keigo, seeing that he _did_ buy him his lunch, Ishida tore the wrappers off his curry bread and started eating.

"You had every reason to decline my offer, yet you didn't."

"I doubt anyone would decline the chance of getting free lunch," Ishida replied matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Ichigo didn't believe him. "That sure tells a whole lot about you, you know."

"Oh? And what might that be, Kurosaki?"

"Introverted, cheap, a bookworm, and a closet hopeless romantic."

"I don't know how you end up with that last description . . . but something tells me that you're looking for a fight." His right cheek rose, narrowing his eye, giving him that look that shouted 'I'm royally pissed right now.'

"I just think you look tense being in an unfamiliar environment, is all. Couldn't think of anything else to make you loosen up a little."

"And annoying me is your idea for me to 'loosen up a little,' huh." Ishida was close to snarling, Ichigo could feel it.

"Not at all. If I hadn't said anything I was sure you would've just sat there and stayed quiet like you were a shadow." Before he could let the Quincy reply, he said to Keigo, "Keigo, tell a joke."

"Eh? Eh, well, uh . . ." he stammered some more, but quickly stopped when Ichigo gave him a very heated glare.

"Tell. A. Joke."

Keigo's defenses must've snapped at the veiled threat in his words. He stood up and began waving his arms around, catching the attention of everyone else. The joke was quite lost to them because Keigo seemed content to spew out nonsensical bullshit. Ichigo wasn't complaining; he only wanted a distraction, not a ready-made standup comedy act. That would've been too much to expect from someone like Keigo.

"And what about you, Mister Social?" Keigo pointed at Ishida. "Don't think we didn't see your little 'love talk' with Orihime Inoue! The whole class saw you two talking like you were very close with each other."

Open mouth, insert foot. Ichigo should've expected _that_ from Keigo.

"Do I have an obligation to divulge you of my relationship status with Inoue-san?" Ishida questioned, eating the last bit of his curry bread before finishing up his juice.

"Yes you do!"

Mizuiro, having been as quiet as Chad since the start of the conversation, did a dramatic cough to gain everyone's attention and said, "While I don't agree with Asano-san's accusation—"

"There you go with the 'Asano-san' thing again!"

"—I _am_ curious about that conversation you had with Inoue-san. She said something about your hand still hurting?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Ichigo interjected, and looked at Ishida's hand. "You hurt your hand yesterday. It looks fine now." Ishida had informed him last night about the condition his hand was in. When the sandal-hat guy's Jamaican-looking friend inspected it, he ended up with the same conclusion Ishida did: his hand had to be healed the old-fashioned way. It was heavily bandaged the last time he saw it, but now there wasn't even a trace of anything wrapped around it. As if the wound was never there in the first place.

"Yes," Ishida murmured, looking at his once injured hand with an expression Ichigo couldn't quite understand. Mystified, maybe? "Inoue-san . . . has a surprising talent for healing."

"But I thought you weren't supposed to, er . . ." He looked at Keigo and Mizuiro from the corner of his eye, and reworded what he was about to say. ". . . um, _apply_ anything on it until after a few days."

"That's what I thought, too, but her technique seems to defy that notion."

"Technique?"

"Yes, technique."

". . . what the hell are you talking about?"

He pushed back his glasses. "Then you are not aware of it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "I see. I guess you are not the only one keeping secrets."

"Okay, you lost me here. What do you mean by keeping secrets?"

"Don't _we_ have the right to know what's happening in this conversation?" Keigo interrupted. "It's like Ishida here is implying Orihime-chan is like a nurse who gives her patients a secret 'special' service—"

Ichigo glared at him, and Ishida also joined.

"Uhm, yeah. I . . . uh . . . am just gonna back away slowly and keep my mouth shut. Right." And backed away, he did. But he forgot to bring his lunch with him, so he hustled back, apologizing and explaining, and ran to the opposite side of the rooftop.

The two looked at Mizuiro, who then sighed.

"All right. I'll keep Keigo busy."

When he was out of earshot, Ishida said, "You didn't tell Inoue-san about the Quincy. With that said, did she approach you about this?"

"Yeah, I remembered her asking me about that. Rukia gave her the basic rundown of the whole thing." He remembered it well. She used the same illustrations, too. Ugh. "What's that got to do with this?"

"I don't see the logic of you trying to keep Inoue-san from danger, Kurosaki. She had already proven herself capable of defending herself."

Ichigo gave him a skeptical look.

"Well, her alter-ego at least." Ichigo was the one who informed him of Orihime's Jekyll-and-Hyde situation.

"You don't _have_ to understand the logic in this. I didn't tell her about you because I didn't have to. I wanted to settle the whole thing before it gets too complicated."

"She looked hurt last night when she realized you didn't tell her about me, you know."

"What?"

"I don't know what kind of history you two have with each other, but I can clearly determine that there is a bit of a trust issue between you two. You keep secrets from each other that are dangerous and risky for the other to know."

His eyes widened. "That's—"

"Absurd? Hmph. In denial, are we?" Ishida crushed his empty juice box. "It matters little, I suppose. We may have come to a truce for a cease fire, but that doesn't change the fact that I do not want to get involved with you or Inoue-san any more than I have to. And by the way I see it, this issue between you and her would most likely be the cause of your downfall."

"I'm not in denial," Ichigo grumbled.

"Is that so? Hmn."

Ichigo couldn't deny his statement in his head, though. That bespectacled archer was observant, but he only got the bare essentials of the situation and not the whole thing. There was no possible way he could understand the reason behind his way of keeping Orihime in the dark. He already established with himself long ago that whether she was in the dark or not, Orihime still had this tendency to get hurt if left unsupervised, and it was only through the strange workings of her alter-ego that she had survived those close calls. Ichigo was no fool. Orihime was not cut out for this duty, seeing that every time an opportunity arose for her to show him and Rukia what she was capable of, it was taken away by a hostile body takeover courtesy of Emi. But there was one time where she showed an incredible display of iaijutsu when something dark and evil escaped the Gates of Hell and attacked him. However, that did not mean it was solely Orihime. Her back had been to him, so he couldn't discern her eye color and she had been avoiding making direct eye contact with him until he ordered her to look him in the eye. The brownish tint of her gray eyes was enough of a sign to tell him that it was still borrowed strength from Emi. Suffice to say, he was a little hesitant in informing Orihime if her help was not exactly needed at the time. With what happened yesterday, he wondered if not informing her about Ishida's hostility would've improved the whole thing.

_No_, he thought,_ I don't think it would have._

Sighing, Ichigo rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache was inevitably coming, and there was no way of stopping it. He was grateful for Orihime's help, he really was, but like Rukia, he was wary of Emi's motives. And the veiled threat she gave to Rukia a few weeks ago did not bode well for him. He had a hard time categorizing her as a friend or a foe.

Chad . . . well, he just sat there silently, eating his curry bread with his trademark silence. If he had a comment he wanted to say to the others, he didn't voice it out. The conversation between Ichigo and Ishida was going too fast for him to find the right timing. He was not the kind of guy who liked interrupting people.

* * *

Around the same time the boys were having their discussion on the school's rooftop, the girls in Class 3-1 were having their own interesting conversation at the back of the school under the shade of the biggest tree in the lot. A large picnic blanket was sprawled out on the ground and the girls situated themselves over it as they dug into their respective bento.

Orihime was having a fun time eating one of her favorite creations, though some of the fun had been sapped away when she caught the disgusted looks the other girls except Tatsuki and Chizuru were giving her. Tatsuki always told her that her choice of food was not what you would call 'normal' (was it because of her being a half-shinigami or was it just her?), but those looks always hurt. It was like back when she was in middle school and everybody alienated her because of the strange color of her hair (which she also suspected is because of her shinigami heritage).

Her eyes traveled to the dignified pose of Rukia as she ate her bought lunch with the grace of a noble. Some of the girls were fascinated by this grace which seemed to be more prominent on Rukia than any rich and sophisticated person they met. And more than one person had asked her if she was of noble blood or something similar. It sure put her off sometimes, but the façade she had been using since her transfer was always in place and that was enough to change the subject matter before she was forced to give out an answer. It was like Rukia didn't want to connect with anyone, let alone inform others of her past.

"So, Kuchiki-san," Mahana Natsui, the curious girl of the group, said with a pause, waiting for Rukia to acknowledge her. Once she did, she continued, "Do you like Ichigo Kurosaki?"

Rukia was at that moment drinking from her strawberry juice box. The question came out with such blunt force that she spat the juice out of her mouth. "Uh . . . what?"

"You're always seen walking with Kurosaki before and after school. So tell us. Are you two intimate or something?"

"I—I—uh—I—"

Rukia breathed deeply, calming her down before her sputtering got any worse.

"Kurosaki-kun and I are just friends, that's all," she stated simply, the smile she placed on her face was enough of a bluff that everybody believed it.

The girls groaned in unison. "Darn. I was so sure you had a thing for Kurosaki," Mahana said.

Ryo Kunieda, the track and field star and bookworm of Class 1-3, said, "Are you sure Kuchiki is the right person to ask that, Natsui?" Not once did she leave her eyes from the book she was reading. "Inoue has been getting close to Kurosaki these past few weeks."

There was silence as Orihime squirmed at everyone's attention towards her. She looked down, unable to face the facts in their purest form. She was sure someone in the group would start to ask her about her relationship with Ichigo, and she was not one to lie with a straight face often. Whether she liked to keep her current closeness to Ichigo a secret or not was irrelevant. The problem lay with their 'extracurricular' activities, which also involved Rukia. How could she lie her way out of that if they pestered on with the questions?

Chizuru giggled. "What are you talking about, Ryo-chan? Hime doesn't affiliate herself with such riffraff like Kurosaki, right, Hime?"

"Um, well . . ."

"Chizuru."

"Yes, Tatsuki?"

"If you don't get your hands off Orihime's shoulders this instant, I will grind your face with the ground."

Chizuru complied. "Hehehe. Let's not get violent here . . ."

"Then don't provoke me."

"Well, Orihime," Mahana said, getting interested on the idea of a secret love triangle between Ichigo, Orihime, and Rukia, despite the latter person's denial, "tell us. Are you and Kurosaki dating?"

Orihime blushed. She couldn't reply. Her thoughts dragged her to that one simple question, while her imagination conjured up very vivid images of what she and Ichigo would be doing if they were actually dating. From having romantic candlelit dinners, watching movies, and some of that good ole 'couple courtship' to skydiving on top of Tokyo Tower, having a red bean paste eating contest, and headbutting each other . . . all at the same time.

"Hello? Orihime?"

Mahana's hand waved in front of Orihime's face. When that didn't work, she snapped her fingers several times.

"Heh?" Orihime tilted her head, slightly dazed from being pulled out of her inner thoughts just when the Ichigo of her imagination was about to loudly proclaim his love of her to the world through a giant bullhorn. "What?"

"Are you and Kurosaki dating?" Mahana reiterated, though she wasn't really looking for an answer from the orangehead; the blush and the dazed look were enough to give her an idea of what was going on inside that head of hers. Unfortunately, the others who saw Orihime's face had similar ideas.

Orihime shook her head. "No, no. We're just getting to know each other better."

"Then, become an item," Mahana retorted, "Right?"

Blush deepening, she shook her head once more, more vigorously this time.

"You mean you haven't made moves on Kurosaki yet?"

Orihime just looked down, embarrassed to the point that she couldn't make any replies to any of the girls' queries, even Tatsuki's when she asked if she was all right.

"All right, girls, let's leave Orihime alone," Tatsuki said to the others. "I think she's had enough of the teasing."

"She must be quite love-struck to clam up like that," Ryo commented, then turning the page of her book. ". . . or probably just embarrassed."

"It can't be true! It can't be!" Chizuru yelled. "Hime, _please_ tell me that all they're saying is just lies. You can't have a crush on Ichigo Kurosaki of all people."

"Then what about Ishida-kun?" Michiru Ogawa asked. "Orihime-chan seemed to have gotten closer to him, too."

"Oh yeah," Mahana mused. "Orihime and Ishida acted like really close friends back in class."

"You think so?" Orihime inquired. While grateful that the topic had changed, she was lost on how asking Ishida about the state of his injury could be considered a conversation between 'really close friends' for the other girls. She didn't realize that maybe Mahana was exaggerating things since it concerned one of the coldest students in Karakura High warming up to a person of the opposite sex. It was sure to turn a lot of heads their way.

"I know so," Mahana replied as if she knew a lot more about Ishida than she let on. "So, Orihime, you've set your eyes on not one but two boys in our class."

"Eh?" Confusion. Reprocessing information . . . complete. "EEEEH?!!"

"Mahana!" Tatsuki scolded. "Stop teasing her."

She pouted. "I was only curious."

"But you could've been less blunt about it."

"Oh, so you also think Orihime is getting into a love triangle?"

Orihime looked at her best friend, aghast. "You really think that of me, Tatsuki-chan?"

"Of course not! Mahana's just putting words in my mouth."

"And I'll keep on teasing until I hear what I want to hear, Orihime."

"Which is what?" Orihime asked.

Mahana cocked an eyebrow, her mouth forming a lopsided grin. "Two boys, one girl. You get what I mean?"

"Ah . . ." She pondered for another two seconds. "No, I don't."

She sighed. "Just tell me straight: who do you like, Kurosaki or Ishida?"

"Neither!" Chizuru exclaimed. "There is no way that my dear Hime would love some dirty, worthless man. Right, Hime?"

Orihime murmured something, her head down and her cheeks flaming a beet root red. It was so quiet that none of the girls had heard it, but they knew she said something.

"Eh? What was that again?" Mahana said, leaning closer towards the orangehead. "Say it louder."

She murmured again, louder but not quite enough to be understood.

"Suki?" Michiru repeated. Orihime probably meant she needed some room since they were huddling her, somewhat.

"I like Kurosaki-kun," she said, louder and clearer. By the end of it, Orihime was so embarrassed that she covered her face with her hands. "Uuuuhh . . . I can't believe I just said that."

While Chizuru was in an almost permanent state of shock, the other girls were squealing at the proclamation, and so the _real_ interrogation began. When did you realize it? What do you see in him? Does he know? Does he look interested? Will you be the one making the first move or him?

It got to the point that they asked two to three questions at a time, and Orihime got overwhelmed. She turned to Rukia and Tatsuki for help, but the two were already engaging to her aid before she thought of it. It was easy enough for them to placate the stampede of curious questions. That didn't stop the teasing, though, and Tatsuki and Rukia were more than happy to join in on it.

By the end of lunch, Orihime wished Rukia could allow her to use the memory modifier on everyone who was there. And she meant _everyone_.

* * *

Night was upon the sky. The winds picked up and it swayed her raven hair to her left. She stood outside Ichigo's house, a small pack on her back and a heavy heart that was reluctant to let everything go. Rukia was not a very sentimental person—well, at least not openly—but there was just something about this place, this town, the people she had befriended that made her want to stay. But her selfish desire was not a wish to be granted. Reality was harsh, she knew that all too well, and she didn't dwell long inside her foolish fantasies of a world where everything was all right.

She delayed this for too long. Her indecision had cost her valuable time to get out of Karakura and disappear. Soul Society is a by-the-book organization, thus there was a limited moment of opportunity for her to make a head start in her disappearing, but she didn't take it. This town held her back. The people—Orihime, Ichigo, Kon, her classmates—held her back. She dreamed for too long, and now the small window of escape might've already eluded her.

But there was no turning back now. If she stayed until the troops Soul Society would send came and got her, Ichigo and Orihime would be caught in the crossfire. As long as she kept them away from the confrontation, then there might still be a chance for her to live long enough to warn Soul Society about the Lückenhaft, although those bureaucrats would more than likely dismiss her like some raging lunatic. But still, she had to try.

Rukia looked away from the house and towards the dark street. The moon shone full tonight, but it did little to brighten the calm night. The wind subsided. It was cold, but she didn't give notice.

As she started her dash towards the edge of town, she hoped against hope that Ichigo would listen to her for once and obey the contents of the letter she had left behind on his desk. Knowing him, he would probably ignore it until he realized she wasn't coming back. That'd give her at least until morning before he suspected something.

A part of her wanted to glance at the Kurosaki household one final time but—

"No," she said to herself, quickening her pace. "It's better this way. Better for all of us."

Her footsteps were fast, her form light and contrasting to the dark colors of the background. Her mind was set straight, and her goal unwavering. Nothing could stop her.

Rukia Kuchiki was gone.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

Orihime's choice of breakfast is not what you'd consider normal, I suppose. Natto is an acquired taste, and though I haven't tasted one in my life, I'm sure that it is far from tasting sweet. Hence, the presence of strawberry jam. If natto tasted somewhat bitter, maybe she was thinking something along these lines: "If it tastes bitter, won't the jam make it bittersweet, like dark chocolate?"

'Suki' has around four meanings, if Wiktionary is to be trusted. It means 'space,' 'shovel,' and 'room,' apart from the well-known English-translation 'love.' "Ichigo-kun. Suki desu." ("Ichigo-kun. I love you.")


	25. The Sin of Envy

Date written: 15/04/10 – 05/05/10

Posted on FanFiction: 10/05/10

A/N: Stuff happened these past few weeks. I've been getting a little rusty in the writing department for a while; I haven't set foot on a keyboard, typing away, for a whole goddamn week. It sure felt like a total reprieve from the stress, but I was getting used to a different kind of stress for the time being. Guess it's now time to juggle them around and hope I don't get burned out. Oh well.

Anyway, the events in this chapter parallels to that of the manga in some situations. I might be taking some anime adaptations, but I feel that the manga is more solid in its approach.

* * *

**--- CHAPTER 25 ---**

**The Sin of Envy**

Ichigo was not unfazed when he saw his closet empty. Thinking that maybe it was too early—no matter how absurd it kind of seemed—he checked his bedside clock, and sure enough it was way past twilight. The night sky outside his window was just the cherry on top. He didn't have some internal organizer that tells him when and where he will have to go, but he sure had a feeling that Rukia did. Whenever it turned to night, she was always inside his closet, wearing one of the pajamas she had commandeered (more like stolen) from his sister Yuzu's drawers. And even then, she would leave a note if she were to be out late by herself. He sure as hell wasn't going to stop her.

But tonight he felt . . . he didn't know _what_ he felt, but it was giving off some very bad vibes, almost like a sense of forebode before tragedy struck. He shrugged it off as worrying too much over something that didn't need much concern.

The plate of onigiri (_**tr.**_ "Rice balls") was left on his hand as he tried to think of a possible explanation of Rukia's absence. No warning. No note. Not even a verbal reminder. He didn't let this strange occurrence get to his head, though. The woman was ten times his age, so surely she could take care of herself without him hovering down on her like some overprotective mother hen (the comparison to a female chicken made his eye twitch). As it was, the onigiri he prepared for her dinner would go to waste if she didn't come back soon.

_Well, a little dessert before getting some homework done didn't kill anybody_, he thought mildly as he took a bite on an onigiri. He continued his late dessert at the foot of his bed, thoughts of Rukia temporarily forgotten as his mind juggled with a different topic. It didn't last too long when he suddenly heard something scurrying under his bed. Outwardly, he looked to be disinterested, but his mind started going over what could be down there. It could be a stray animal that had done the impossible and got into his room, but Ichigo didn't put much faith in that theory. If his instincts were to be believed, it might be one of the banes of his unusual life.

Without hesitation, he got out of bed and stuck his hand under it, and then pulled whatever that was scurrying out. And it happened to be none other than Kon, tied up and gagged like a poor slop who was about to be tossed overboard with cement shoes.

_Probably a good way to get rid of 'em for good_, he thought as he stared at the plush toy who was struggling out of his binds and Ichigo's grip. _Nah, it'd be a waste of cement._

"You into bondage or something, buddy?" Ichigo asked.

Kon shot an indignant glare at him, while shaking his head violently.

"Then why are you tied up like that?"

The Mod Soul did all he could to voice out the reason, but whoever gagged him was quite good in reinforcing the knots on the rag around his mouth. And Ichigo had no objection to let the little guy suffer for a few more seconds. Kon squirmed and shouted and cried all at the same time, and when Ichigo had enough of the sadistic fun, he pulled the gag out. Forcefully.

"IYAAAAHHH!!!"

"Pipe down, you loudmouth Simba, or you'll wake _Yuzu_." He made sure to emphasize his sister's name, just to see him stiffen. The shutting up part was only an added bonus. "Now why were you tied up and under my bed?"

"It was Nee-san who did it!"

"Rukia? Hmm, I see." He then tossed the toy overhead and went back to eating the rest of the onigiri.

"Why you?! Aren't you the least bit worried about me?"

"If Rukia tied you up securely and left you under the bed where the dust, dirt, and dark lurk, then she must've done it because you pissed her off again." He scooped up the next onigiri and continued eating.

"I did no such thing to my Nee-san!" He then muttered, "Though she seemed angry even when I wanted to please her." Then loudly, "But that's beside the point. Didn't you read her letter?"

"Letter?"

Kon palmed his own face. "The one on your desk, moron! Nee-san tied me up because I caught her running away."

"Running away? From what? You're not making any sense, Kon."

"Then read the goddamn letter." He ran to the desk and took the envelope placed neatly on the center. Giving it to Ichigo, he added, "Read it quick."

Ichigo did so. And after figuring out the weird word puzzle she had done, it was made clear on what her intentions were. He cursed loudly, crunching the paper into a ball and threw it at the corner. "That idiot," he growled.

"We have to save Nee-san, Ichigo. She can't possibly handle this on her own. Soul Society must've already sent someone to capture her by now."

"I know." He grabbed the plushie and proceeded to choke it with his hand inside its mouth. When he successfully extracted the Mod Soul pill, he wiped it with his shirt (no telling what was inside that toy he salvaged from the garbage) and ingested it. There was a lightheaded and tingly feeling of being pushed out of his skin before he stood in his shinigami robes. "Stay here and do my homework."

"Do your what?"

Ichigo jumped out his window and ran down the street.

"You don't even know where she went, idiot!" was Kon's final words in the distance.

The Mod Soul was right. Ichigo didn't know where Rukia had gone off to, but the message she left sure implied that she was heading out of the city. There was still time to catch up to her if he hurried, though. She wouldn't have been gone for more than two hours, and he was sure that Rukia wouldn't use vehicular transportation to rush out of the city. She could use a phone, but the rest of modern culture eluded her a lot. Fact was that she'd be running on foot at least until her body needed rest. That narrowed down the search radius, but the problem would be the direction. If he took too long searching one area, she'd be moving farther and farther away.

"I really hope luck is on my side tonight," he murmured as he turned the corner of the street.

* * *

With the last character written, Orihime stretched her arms to the ceiling and took in a deep and satisfying breath. Her subsequent sigh was of relief as she closed her books and notes. The essay homework their Social Studies teacher had given them was more time-consuming than she first surmised. Orihime had thought she would've finished everything by quarter-past seven, but the minutes stretched until they reached the number fifty-two.

But all of that was over and done with for tonight, and Orihime congratulated herself for not getting herself into an all-nighter. Her grades were suffering with the extra time needed for shinigami duties, but she didn't complain. The difference in grades was minimal and her overall class standing was still high enough to not warrant some last minute cramming. Most of the time, anyway.

Now that she had most of the night to herself, she decided on having a light snack while finishing up on some of her reading. _Equal Romance: Volume III_ was just begging to be read. She remembered that she had stopped after an insane plot twist threw her for a loop, and also remembered that she had to mentally tell herself over five times that it was a school night, getting late, and she needed sleep. Well, tonight gave her hours for her reading pleasure; she was sure to go to sleep happy.

But as she was about to open her fridge, she sensed a slight disturbance in the serenity of the night. Two distinct sources of spiritual energy, concentrated in one area, suddenly appeared. It wasn't a Hollow, she was sure of that. It was something different yet at the same time familiar, almost like they were blue and red crayons—different in color, but still crayons. The only time she had felt this kind of reiatsu was when she sensed Ichigo.

Orihime bit her lip.

If her hunch was indeed right, then she was sensing the suppressed reiatsu of two powerful shinigami. But why would they be here?

_Unless they're here for Kuchiki-san_, she thought. While she was a little happy that someone from Soul Society was checking up on one of their own, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was incredibly _wrong_ in this picture. Maybe it was a spur of the moment, but the urge to go out and investigate was gnawing at her respect of privacy for others.

Hang on a sec.

As far as Orihime knew, Rukia was staying at Ichigo's place. So why are the two shinigami moving _away_ from the Kurosaki home?

_This doesn't seem to be about Kuchiki-san_, she thought. She rushed back into her bedroom, light snack and leisure reading forgotten, and grabbed the device Urahara had given to her yesterday. It was a small, red rectangular object compact enough to fit in her palm, like an iPhone. The graffiti-styled skull printed on one side of the device was the same as the one on Rukia's Skull Glove. Orihime had tested this device a few times last night to test its credibility out and had been more than happy with the results. All she had to do was press the black button opposite the skull-printed side and it was instant soul ejection.

Her forefinger was already halfway in depressing the button, where she would soon feel a slight electric shock before the tingling feeling of her soul coming out of its physical shell, like a snake shedding out its old skin. She halted her progress, not really sure why she was doing so.

She turned towards her window, looking over the nightlife of Karakura, how the indoor lights and street lights made a great impression of pseudo-stars as darkness loomed even in the brightest spots of the city. Orihime took it as an omen, not the brightness but darkness. Call it intuition or an affinity with sensing disturbances from shadows, but the void look of the night's darkness gave her a chill that had nothing to do with nyctophobia.

She let go of her finger from the button. Once her mind had caught up to her and the tension caused by the chill died down, she thought back to what Rukia had informed her about Soul Society politics. Most of it was confusing since Orihime never once dabbled into politics and the like, but she still caught the gist of what Rukia tried to imply: Soul Society is strict and merciless when it comes to the rules they enacted. And Orihime had a feeling that they keep a very keen eye on their shinigami, so if she were to just suddenly appear in her shinigami form then she would no doubt be in some form of trouble.

Her instincts told her to play this with caution. So going shinigami was to be her last option once she got to where the shinigami's reiatsu were. With grim determination, Orihime stepped out of her apartment and dashed to the two shinigami's location.

* * *

"Well, well, well." The ponytailed redhead smirked as they found their target easily enough. He idly wondered if he should get himself a pair of these reiatsu-tracking goggles; it would sure come in handy in the future.

Their target stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze upward at the top of two electric poles. Her subtle movements showed the intension of running away, but it soon deflated. Hah! At least she was smart enough to know that it was futile to begin with.

"It's been a while, Rukia," he said, eyeing the woman with a cocky yet disapproving glance.

"So it has, Renji," she replied, her hands balling into fists. She looked at the other shinigami. "Nii-sama."

* * *

Ichigo dashed through the rooftops, searching everywhere for Rukia. There were a few times where he swooped down to the streets when he saw a head of raven hair, but they were all people he didn't know or recognize. Just night strollers walking along. To tell the truth, he was beginning to get frustrated from the lack of success. For every failure in his search and for every minute wasted, Rukia was getting closer and closer to escaping his clutches. Time was against him and didn't seem to be the negotiable type.

Still, he marched on, hoping that he'd at least catch a break tonight. When he jumped back down to the barely lit streets to investigate another raven-haired figure walking out of his field of vision at a T-intersection, he bumped into someone when he turned the corner.

Of course, the fact that he had been running and the one he bumped into had been doing the same the force of their respective momentums caused both to lose their balance and, with Ichigo's momentum much stronger than the other, landing in a heap with the man on top. An apology was already out of his lips before his mind caught onto the feeling of what he was holding in his right hand.

In the middle of that T-intersection, with the streetlight above them casting down a cone-shaped beam reminiscent of a spotlight, Ichigo stared into familiar gray eyes that were widened in shock. Those same eyes looked downwards and they widened even further, cheeks shifting to a deep red color.

"Inoue?"

It was her, all right. Though he could hardly understand her stammering of a reply.

"What is it?"

And that was when his mind finally registered the soft feeling in his right hand. Something soft and oddly familiar contact, as if he had touched this spot before . . .

Shock entered him as the realization kicked in. Sadly, his shock also invited an involuntary response to his right hand, squeezing the soft object harder.

Orihime yelped, turning even redder. "K—K—Kurosaki-kun!"

"Ah, uh, ah, I'm sorry!" He shouted before creating a ten-foot distance between him and her. The very soft feeling of one of her _breasts_ still tingled in his hand. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it at all."

"No, it's my fault," she said. "I wasn't careful while I was running, and uh . . ."

"I wasn't looking where I was going, either." That was a lie. He knew where he was going and had his eyes set on something, but never would have suspected to bump into a familiar face that was not the runaway's.

Orihime straightened herself out and stood up. "Why are you running anyway at this hour, Kurosaki-kun?"

"I should ask the same for you. Rukia ran away."

"Ran away? But"—she pointed at the direction she was running to—"isn't she with the other shinigami from Soul Society?"

"Eh? They're already here?"

She nodded with an affirmative hum. "Two of them are over there. I went out because I just had this really bad feeling."

"Well then, let's go."

Without any other word to say, the two of them ran to where Orihime believed the shinigami were at.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

"Yeah?"

". . . do you have a breast fetish?"

"Gah!" Ichigo was sure he was blushing. "No! Absolutely not!"

"Oh." She sighed in relief. "Good."

He didn't know what she had been thinking, but it was best he didn't find out.

* * *

Orihime panted, taking very deep breaths and exhalations, as they finally made it where she sensed the shinigami were at. She was still working on improving her stamina. Peering over the corner of the street, she saw Ishida fighting a shinigami with long spiky red hair done in a ponytail. Orihime wasn't sure if those humongous things on his forehead were his eyebrows or just tattoos.

"Kurosaki-kun, what should we do?"

The redhead had a smirk on his face as he executed a feint before slashing at the opening Ishida had made. It was a clean cut, even from where Orihime was standing, and Ishida was now down for the count. The shinigami walked closer to the Quincy's prone form, blood seeping out of the sword wound on his chest, and raised his sword high.

Ichigo had reacted quicker than her, as he literally flashed by her and then pushed the redheaded shinigami out of the way. There was momentary shock from both her and the redhead; for Orihime it was more of amazement since she never knew Ichigo could be so _quick_.

_But there's another person there_, she thought as she surveyed the whole street, spotting Rukia and another shinigami a little farther away from where the battle between Ichigo and the redhead commenced. The shinigami with the long black hair and white haori draped over his shoulders looked almost indifferent at the battle, as if he already knew the outcome would be the victory of the redhead. That or maybe he just didn't care.

Whichever it was, Orihime wasn't taking any chances. She readied the soul-extraction device Urahara had given her and pressed the button. She felt the bond between her physical shell and her soul slowly cutting away. Her soul was already halfway out before a sudden surge of pain raced through her whole being. She couldn't scream; her lungs felt closed off and her throat constricted so tightly that she was choking.

Did something go wrong? This never happened before when she tested the device before. But—

_**Nuh-uh-uh, princess.**_

Her soul was then forced back into its human body. The whole experience left Orihime disoriented as she supported herself at a nearby wall, breathing heavily and it was not because of her earlier dash. Large beads of sweat cascaded down her face as her whole body convulsed as if she were shivering from the cold, barely able to keep her knees from giving out. Gaining back some of her breath, she tried to voice out a question but realized that her throat was as dry as the desert. Swallowing her saliva a few times helped a bit, but it was like pouring a glass of water on a bucket of dry sand.

_What was that?_

_**I just wanted to have a little bit of fun.**_

_Emi?_

_**It's not the old hag, that's for sure, hon.**_

_What did you do?_

_**I only forced your soul back into your body. Don't want to tip the scales to the bitch's advantage, after all.**_

She clenched her fists. _Kurosaki-kun needs my help!_

_**And I'm stopping you for it.**_

_Why?_ She always thought Emi felt the same feelings she had of Ichigo. They were polar opposites in almost every way, but surely Emi's unhidden lusting for the male orangehead was a clear indicator to a common similarity between both sides.

_**Think about it for a minute, princess. These shinigami surely came for the Rukia bitch. Ichigo-kun said that she ran away because Soul Society was after her for a crime she had committed. Do you know what crime that was?**_

She bit her lip. Peeking at the corner again, she saw Ichigo dueling toe-to-toe with the ponytailed redhead, their swords clashing with enhanced speed and power that were borderline inhuman. The sounds of their swords reached her ears, and Orihime was vaguely reminded of a drummer playing a fast, rhythm-less succession of beats.

Sensing no answer to come, Emi continued, _**Giving a normal human shinigami powers.**_

Orihime gasped, eyes widening at the implication. _Then they're here to arrest Kuchiki-san._

_**Oh, no, not just arrest, princess. The consequences of such a vile act are being stripped of your spiritual powers and a public execution.**_

_Th—Then I should help her more than ever! I can't let Kuchiki-san die._

_**You really think so, princess?**_

_I don't 'think,' I _know_ so._

_**Even when you realize that one day Ichigo-kun might start falling for the bitch?**_

_I . . . that's . . ._

_**There's an alternative. It's easy, Orihime-chan. Just stay where you are. Do not do a thing. Ichigo will be defeated, and once they leave with Rukia-bitch in tow, you go over there and heal Ichigo up. Good as new.**_

_I can't! I won't! You won't make me!_

_**Tsk. Can't hurt a girl for trying, eh?**_

Orihime was about to press the device's button again—

_**That doesn't mean I'll let you go, though.**_

—but a sense of dread overcame her, numbing the feeling on her hand, which dropped the device to the pavement. Her legs were next, as she slid down with her back to the wall. She could barely breathe, her actions quite similar to that of a woman having an asthma attack. Her other hand gripped the wrist of her numb one, its fingers dancing in mini-convulsions as if the nerves went haywire. Black spots formed in her vision, which almost went unnoticed as she stared into the night sky clouded by the darkest clouds she had ever seen, almost like a shroud. And a fearful part of her mind wondered if there were two brown evil-looking eyes behind those clouds.

She couldn't move her legs. And only the nonstop exchange of two locking blades gave her a window to the dangerous reality of their situation. Ichigo was alone to fend off two shinigami. Orihime had enough sense to understand that a shinigami had more experience with ways of the sword and Hollow extermination than her and Ichigo combined. He would be hard-pressed, brought to his limit, and ultimately be backed into a corner, with nothing to expect but the cold and final blow from a zanpakuto that was not his.

And Orihime didn't want that. Emi thought otherwise, showing more agreement on Rukia's arrest than Ichigo's safety.

_**It's only because I have faith that he'll survive . . . which you honestly lack, by the way.**_

Orihime would never agree to that. Even if Ichigo was as sturdy as Superman, she would never allow him to be in harm's way when she could lessen the danger for him. And with this in mind, she tried her damnedest to break free from the constraints Emi had applied to her nervous system. How the alter-ego had such control over her bodily functions, Orihime wasn't sure.

Legs were still unresponsive, and mostly every part of her body. The only thing she _could_ move was her head, which was leaning on the wall's corner, giving her a tiny sided view of the shinigami battle. The redheaded shinigami somehow did something to his zanpakuto and it suddenly started acting as if it were a sword and lasso hybrid. Orihime feared for the worst.

She didn't give up trying, but her hope slowly deteriorated. And inside herself, Emi's face adorned a grin. Everything was going according to her plans. Soon, not even Orihime could resist.

The seed had been planted. Grown. Sprouted. It would not be long for it to bear fruit.

* * *

Ichigo grunted in pain. That was an unexpected attack, one that worked to that pineapple-head's advantage. If he had known that a shinigami's zanpakuto's release could create such a change in the sword's appearance, he would've tried to think of a counterattack. But it was too late for that now, and besides, it wasn't as if he was expecting a fight with one of Rukia's former comrades.

His shoulder seared with pain, but he endured it, ignored it for the moment. Mostly he was relying on the adrenaline rush to null down the pain, though it helped little in the tremor in his hands. Whether this was the result of the accumulated pain, a bit of blood loss, the adrenaline rush, or a combination of two or all three, it didn't matter after his opponent decided to make an encore attack, aiming it towards Ichigo's left shoulder again.

Pushing any other thought than blocking out of his state of mind, Ichigo readied his ogre-sized blade to intercept the pseudo-whip Ren-something's zanpakuto had become. But it seemed concentrating on blocking was a bad idea. His sword only clashed with the middle side of the whip-blade, causing the pointed end that passed him to tilt and connect with his back and wounded shoulder.

"Gck!" his voice grunted through gritted teeth, which was followed by a weak cough. Still stunned with the pain of getting pierced a second time, he could only glare at his opponent as he pulled the whip-blade back, scratching Ichigo's flesh like sharp talons. His knees gave out, but he forced his body not to drop down like a defeated fighter. Rukia's life was on the line and he'd be damned if he'd let these assholes take her away.

The shaking worsened and his grip suffered for it. His zanpakuto dropped at almost the same moment his knees met the pavement, while he pulled his upper body back to remain in the kneeling position. He clenched his fists through the unending pain and humiliation. Hopelessness followed. These two had the upper hand, and he never saw it at all.

Was there something wrong with his ears? That pineapple-head was telling him something, probably a 'sorry but I'm going to kill you now' sentence filled with sarcasm. All he could really hear were jumbled words as if he were underwater while listening to someone talk above the surface. He even heard Rukia's voice trying to tell him something. He couldn't tell what she was doing; his head was down, strength too weak to lift it back up and glare at his enemy.

But he had a feeling that what she was really doing was something reckless. An action that might resort to the shinigami to kill her.

_Grab your sword, dammit!_ he thought, fists clenching and unclenching. There must be some way for him to get back into the fight. Rukia was counting on him, even if she never stated it outright. If he lost here, he'd lose the only chance to rescue her and then she'd die. He had to save her; he owed her that much. He just had to!

Without him realizing it—a probable act of desperation, either for survival or that dominant trait of his to save people—he unleashed a power hidden within the deep confines of his soul, a bursting feeling of such overwhelming intensity that Ichigo had a hard time comprehending just its magnitude. It was like an inner dam had cracked and subsequently broken down, letting the current from the other side flood his soul instead of distributing it in controlled amounts. And all at once his tremor ceased, his senses becoming strangely acute. Then the pain subsided, as if his brain's pain receptors had shut down. He was sure this wasn't what death was like because he could still move his body and the lit street was still in his line of sight. Rukia's screams entered his ears. Distress. Yes, distress.

He felt no pain. He, honest to God, felt no pain at all.

He actually felt good. _Really_ good.

In a half daze, as if his eyes were covered in tears and his mind as groggy as a man who had been under the influence, he reached for his zanpakuto, clenching it tight in his palm enough to whiten his fingers. He slowly stood, balance no longer an issue, the pain in his shoulder nothing but a hazy memory. His eyes set upon his target, who looked at him and grinned. Ichigo felt like grinning himself. The hopelessness, the doubts, the fear, all of that had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and its place was the towering presence of confidence, determination, and the lust for battle.

He was drooling in anticipation of finally wiping that grin off the bastard's face!

Like what he had done to absorb this vast power, he unleashed it, this time outwards instead of inwards, converting its presence to that of reiatsu. And just as he thought, that Ren-guy's grin was replaced to that of bewilderment. But it would soon be replaced with another expression, the one he'd really like to see: Fear.

One second he was standing in front of his opponent, the next he was standing behind him. A gout of blood burst out of his opponent's shoulder. Aaaah, payback's a bitch, ain't she?!

Ichigo couldn't believe it. The guy was as slow as a snail now. Did his reiatsu do that to him?

Grinning madly, he lifted his zanpakuto once more and prepared for another strike, this time he went low. One simple swipe; that was all he needed to propel the bastard up while he tried to dodge that lethal slice. The guy's shades were cut in half while he was sporting a bloody gash that stained most of the center of his face. And his expression . . . oh finally! That was it. That was what he was waiting for. Fear, fear, fear.

Ichigo made certain that his next strike would be the final blow, the one to take this asshole out. Not bothering to give the guy time to recover from his brush from death, he dashed forward in the inhuman speed he had done before. He swung his arm in a quick arc, aiming to behead the redhead.

Then he realized that his sword felt unreasonably light for some reason. He looked down, and only two inches of his zanpakuto was on the hilt guard. The rest was gone. His high came to an abrupt end as rationality began to reassert itself into Ichigo's mind. What was once overwhelming confidence that was borderline cockiness turned to confusion and astonishment. His only weapon had been easily cut cleanly without his noticing. The redhead, who looked to be in the same boat as his, emotion-wise, didn't do it. He was certain of that. So that left—

There the other guy stood, yards away from where he and the redhead were. For him to get from there to here and then back would be almost like teleportation. No man could go that fast. But reality seemed to have warped for tonight because what the man with the cold exterior held in his hand was the separated part of Ichigo's zanpakuto.

The man dropped the broken blade and held his katana. Ichigo tensed, preparing for the attack even with his zanpakuto looking as useless as a dull switchblade. But the attack never came . . . or that was what he thought it to be. The man just disappeared all of a sudden, and his presence reappearing just behind him. Ichigo didn't even see the man move. All he felt within that moment of utter bewilderment was the pain in his chest.

Did he attack him in the front? Or the back?

Ichigo couldn't tell anymore. The pain was unlike anything he had felt, and with each passing second he grew weaker and weaker. He couldn't breathe, and dark circles were already forming in his fading vision. There was a scream, not from Rukia's but Orihime's.

_Orihime . . ._

Ichigo couldn't think straight. There was only pain.

Pain.

* * *

Battles within the self always sounded like a philosophical or religious phrase that few would even take it literally. Orihime wished she could be part of the majority because her own battle within the self wasn't ending in her favor. There was a small part of her mind that was left wondering why Emi didn't just take over like she did last time, but she left that little thought in the backburner while she wrestled for total dominance over the body. It did no good that she still had a view—poor but the best she could get in her situation—of Ichigo's fight. It was almost one-sided when the redhead's zanpakuto transformed into a more intimidating sword, one that she had never seen before. It stretches and retracts as if it were some kind of rubber whip.

The wound on Ichigo's shoulder looked deep, and blood was pouring out enough to stain a redder shade on his shihakusho, if it were possible. He had knelt down, eyes shadowed over by the streetlight above him, and became still. When the redhead was spewing off some taunts before striking the final blow, he was stopped. Rukia had tried to help—Orihime was sure she did all she could do in her situation—but Ichigo didn't take the opening. While Rukia opted for him to run, Orihime knew he wouldn't when Rukia was still pretty much in danger. He was like that, always had been.

And showing such concern to Rukia made her jealous, no matter the illogic of the statement.

What Orihime would've expected from Ichigo, if he were not actually unconscious while on his knees, at that moment was to grab his sword and continue the fight. He might've gained an advantage if he slashed the redhead while Rukia was on his back, but there was also a sense of honor in his ways. It was rough around the edges sometimes, and he most definitely wouldn't give Hollows a fleeting chance to catch him unguarded, being that most were as mindless and merciless as a hungry zombie, but when it came to more intelligent foes like these shinigami, honor was in the battle.

And Ichigo had not only honor but the life of a friend on the line, so the next thing Orihime saw while she finally regained some motor control on her wrists was Ichigo picking up his sword with his head still down. Something was different about his stance and the way he exhaled, as if . . . he was reveling _something_. And it was setting Orihime's senses in tsunami-like waves of unbidden desire. This was Emi's lust, she was sure of it.

Her cheeks blushed and her breath hitched a few times, as if she were shivering. She bit her lip hard, controlling the urge. But Emi's lust seemed to have its use because Orihime had been able to regain firm control back. She didn't hesitate in pushing Emi back into the dark corners of her mind and making sure that she stayed there. A caged door locked with every padlock, security systems, and maybe an additional four or five air-tight vaults to reassure herself were what she had conjured inside her head. It was total security and no one—

_**Locked doors can't stop me. I'm like a ghost, princess. I can just walk past through them.**_

Orihime didn't like that revelation, but she had been desperate for total dominance. The fact that she had been unable to help Ichigo when he went into the fray headfirst without a plan and backup could be a main example of having an alter-ego who liked to play around.

While she was in the middle of lifting herself from the ground, dusting her butt once she did, the fluctuation of Ichigo's reiatsu astounded her. Emi must've felt this before the others did. It was almost intimidating when you were near its presence, and its intimidation factor received a relative boost when she realized an aspect in Ichigo's rising reiatsu that seemed to be the source of it all: Battle lust.

She could hear Emi's erotic sighs echoing in her head, urging her to join in on the reveling.

Ichigo was not a sadistic person, but his reiatsu felt like it had a mind of its own, engulfing Ichigo's sense of reason and honor and mutating it into its own manner of madness. Orihime was not sure if this boost could be considered a miracle or a curse. If he could win by using this newfound power, then all the better. But she dreaded to think that this battle lust phase would become permanent. That'd be like admitting Emi's soul mate was Ichigo, which, while technically was herself, didn't bode well for her and him.

Faster than she could blink, Ichigo flashed into existence right behind his opponent, who now sported a new wound on his shoulder, and Ichigo's ogre-sized zanpakuto stained with bits of blood. When she saw his sadistic smile as he turned around to face the redhead again, a shiver went down her spine. Whether this response was because of Orihime's fear or Emi's desire, the former was not sure.

It all seemed like the tides were turning to Ichigo's favor, but during those moments of witnessing a swift change in Ichigo's attitude, not even she realized the analyzing gaze the raven-haired shinigami had been giving him since the start of the battle. His face was set in stone, expressionless and unfazed regardless of which side was winning. If Orihime had known about this, she would've known that the man did not plan to be a bystander all this time; if his companion needed help, he would give it. And Orihime would've been more perceptive in intervening.

But Fate was cruel in that way. When Orihime finally recalled that there were _two_ shinigami who had been sent to the Human World, it would be too late. In front of her, she saw the raven-haired man drop the cut up of Ichigo's zanpakuto and instantly phase right behind him, almost taking revenge to what Ichigo had done to the redhead.

She screamed Ichigo's name when he collapsed. Her feet, although feeling a little jelly-like, brought her to his side in a matter of seconds, and the presence of two shinigami who could very well surprise attack her was thrown out of her mind. What mattered was Ichigo's condition, and it didn't look good at all.

He was bleeding, erupting in intervals as if his veins pushed out blood whenever he tried to breathe. Above, the thick clouds she had seen tonight were starting the shower of a July rain, washing away the blood spilled from the escalated battle.

_He's going to die_, she thought. _He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to die._ She grabbed his hands—still warm, thank God—and shook them vehemently. "Kurosaki-kun! Kurosaki-kun!" She wanted him to respond, to grunt, to say anything, wanted to make sure that he was still alive.

The shower turned to rain as the two shinigami behind her conversed in a speech she didn't let her mind try to comprehend. Her whole attention was on Ichigo.

* * *

Byakuya watched as the human girl fussed over the human-turned-shinigami he had just eliminated. He had been quite sufficient in his execution of destroying whatever spiritual powers the unsophisticated teen had received from his adopted little sister, and knew that the boy would not live past tonight. The wounds were precise and lethal. It was unthinkable for one such as him to take an innocent life because of this, but it was a law of Soul Society and he promised to never again break another law.

"Who is this girl?" he asked Rukia, who stared at the prone figure of the boy he had given a slow-acting death sentence. "Rukia."

The mention of her name snapped her attention back at him, and she once again squirmed at the indifferent gaze he was giving her. Rukia always had a hard time keeping the Kuchiki mask in place because before she had become a noble she was greatly in touch with her emotions, wearing her heart on her sleeves, if he remembered the idiom correctly. A lot like Hisana was. Reminiscing aside, he reiterated his query, wanting to know more about this human girl who seemed to have the ability to see them and the boy lying in his own pool of blood. It started to rain. He didn't mind.

"She's not involved in this at all, Nii-sama," Rukia replied. She shook her head as she continued in a whisper, "Please don't kill her too."

"Our orders were strictly to get you back to Soul Society and kill the human who has received your powers. There was nothing mentioned concerning murder of innocent civilians."

Rukia sighed in relief.

"But you did not answer my question, Rukia."

She stiffened. Her face showed hesitance before it settled into a more sedated expression that made Byakuya aware that Rukia had half-succeeded in reinserting the indifference in her outward exterior. When she was pressured, it was hard for her to do this much, and while he was at least satisfied that she hadn't been slacking off in her noble training, that did not deter him from his mission, which took priority from anything else.

"Who is the girl?" he repeated.

"Her name is Orihime Inoue."

"And what is she to the boy?" He couldn't understand why it was important for him to know more about the girl. Maybe it was the strange aura of her above-average human reiatsu. It almost felt like that of a shinigami, but no matter improbable the thought was, his calculating mind told something different. It was more incline to be correct than his instincts in puzzling situations such as this, but Byakuya also had a sense of reason that told enough warning bells for him to dismiss such an absurd idea. So maybe the sudden interest was because of something else his mind had picked up unconsciously but hadn't processed yet.

"She's . . . she's . . . she's in love with Ichigo." Her expression was unchanged, but the hesitance was surprising. Not a lot, but it was something to take note.

"I see."

"Sonten Kisshun, I reject!"

Three heads turned towards the girl, her hands touching the sides of her head, as she finished her chant. There was a light coming from her hair before two beams of light shot out and formed an elliptical bowl and encased the injured boy.

"What is that girl doing?" Renji blurted, disbelief present in his face.

"Rukia," Byakuya said, turning to his sister for answers.

"I never knew about this," she replied. She told the truth.

"It would seem," he started, eyes falling back to the girl named Orihime and the boy named Ichigo, whose wounds were miraculously healing, "that there is more to Orihime Inoue than what meets the eye."

* * *

Orihime wrapped Ichigo inside the barrier of Ayame and Shun'uo. She concentrated all her spiritual energy towards the healing process and hope that she wasn't too late to save Ichigo's life. Her eyes brightened in relief as she saw the pooling blood diminishing and the heavier stains on his outfit was disappearing, as if she were rewinding time. Her distraction slowed down the healing process, so she cleared her mind and tried to finish up the healing.

She didn't concentrate everything at the healing, however. There was still the danger of the two shinigami behind her and also Rukia's safety to think about. She just entered into the fray completely disregarding the element of surprise—though she doubted she'd be able to need it—and panicked in a matter of seconds. It was a good thing that her hand brushed her hairpin while resettling a lock of hair behind her ear; she had completely forgotten about her new powers which could be accessed without going shinigami.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw movement from Rukia, who was moving towards her. A hand rested on her shoulder, halting her progress. It was the aristocrat man, his cold and emotionless eyes boring at Orihime. He and Rukia exchanged few words before she looked somehow resigned and nodded at him.

Rukia came towards her, while the aristocrat checked his companion's condition. Her eyes looked defeated.

"Kuchiki-san," Orihime began, but Rukia halted what she wanted to say with just the gesture of her hand and the serious expression on her face.

"I must go with them," she stated, not a hint of fear or anger or sadness. It all came out like a robot's monotonous dictation. But Orihime knew that Rukia had made her mind about this. Her eyes, once filled with spunk and self-esteem, told her a story without the need for words or pictures. It was in there that she realized that her friend would not be coming home with them tonight. Not now. Not ever. She and Ichigo were too late. They lost her.

"But, Kuchiki-san!" she tried to make her see reason, that this was not right, but any other word that might've come after that sentence was shot down by Orihime herself. She didn't know why, though.

"I have no choice, Inoue-san," Rukia said. "If you value your life, if you value Ichigo's life . . . you won't stop me." She eyed the two shinigami behind her warily. "Will Ichigo be all right?"

Orihime nodded.

"I see. When he wakes up, please tell him I'm sorry."

She nodded again.

"Take care." She walked away, turning her back at her and allowed the two shinigami to escort her into the glowing shouji (_**tr. "Sliding doors"**_), which suddenly appeared in the middle of the street, without a fight.

Seeing her going away like that after all Ichigo had put in his effort to save her, Orihime clenched her fists and dismissed the warning bells rang by her survival instincts. Double-checking if Ichigo would be fine without her healing, she stood up and faced them. She had picked up the soul-ejecting device before she stepped out of the shadows, and now it lay in her hand, ready to be used for its sole purpose.

"Kuchiki-san, wait!" Her finger was now on top of the button.

Rukia's eyes widened when she spotted the device. "Inoue-san, stop it!"

She didn't listen and pressed—

_**Didn't we go through this before, princess?**_

_Emi!_

Her hands shook. Her head looked down.

_Don't stop me. I have to save Kuchiki-san. For Kurosaki-kun._

_**And then what, princess? What happens next?**_

_It'll be all right. Everything will be—_

_**Don't delude yourself with your petty denial. It just disgusts me.**_

_Denial?_

_**Yes, denial. Or maybe you just haven't taken the time to think about the consequences of what your actions would entail in the future? In case you don't realize this, princess, but these shinigami have come for the bitch for a reason. And they're not about to let this slide by **_**if**_** you succeed in defeating those two.**_

_I . . ._

_**More will come. All to come for Rukia, and they won't show mercy like before. They will kill her. There's no escaping that.**_

_But . . ._

_**Don't you see, princess? We'll have a chance! Once Rukia is out of the picture, there will no longer be any complications in Ichigo-kun's life and he'll be pretty much open.**_

_No, I won't listen to you. You're lying to me!_

_**Is that a fact? Or are we still in denial? Face it, princess. You've seen the way Ichigo-kun looks at the bitch when he thought you or her weren't looking. If we let this go on for long, then he'll be falling for the wrong girl in no time flat.**_

_No . . . no . . ._

_**He will never notice you, then. Just another friend to him. Do you want that, girl? Just friends?**_

_I'm okay with it. I'm okay with it. I'm . . . I'm . . ._

_**. . . not okay with it, am I right? Anything else to add?**_

Almost automatically, Orihime murmured, "I'm jealous of her." No one heard her as she spoke just when thunder roared at the rainy sky. "I've always had been."

_**And yet you're sweeping away the chance to get rid of her. This is that moment, princess. If you save her, then you may as well be the cause of Ichigo-kun's subsequent death by the hands of Soul Society as a whole. Just let her go. Her fate . . . has already been sealed.**_

"Inoue-san."

Orihime looked up, almost afraid to watch the dejected eyes of someone she called a friend.

"I don't need you. Leave me alone."

That made her way look away, and it was only through the faint sound of the sliding doors echoing through the pitter-patter noise of the July rain that she realized she had let Rukia go.

The seed that had been planted on that fateful night bloomed into a powerful parasite eating its way into Orihime's heart. This was not something born from Orihime's power's awakening nor was it because of Emi's presence did it exist. It was all because of Orihime and her self-doubt. Envy is nothing more but a human sin, and it's only through human emotions can it be created.

Envy.

Jealousy.

The parasite's nutrition.

_I'm a pathetic fool._

Orihime cried in the rain.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I just want to point out that Ichigo's presentation of sadistic fighting is relatively my own vision of his canon attitude during this part of the series. While I believe that Ichigo's Hollow side has a personality more akin to what I've given Ichigo during his innate-talent-induced high, I also have the belief that Hollow Ichigo _must_ have an origin to his personality other than the fact that he's a Hollow. When I saw this part in both anime and manga, I came to the conclusion that maybe Ichigo was unknowingly opening a sealed door to his inborn potential, which was probably closed off due to his spiritual immune system, deeming the chaotic nature of his godlike amount of spiritual energy too harmful for his body (think of Ishida's water tap analogy). Open one lock and you're flooded with a tsunami wave of reiatsu, kind of like Son Goku going Super Saiyan 1. Now in accordance to Ichigo's battle lust, it can be said that his common sense has pretty much gone haywire when he unlocks one of those closed doors, like an alcoholic chugging down a bottle of Stoli (that famous vodka brand). Hollow Ichigo definitely gets most of his personality from this state of mind because Ichigo's instincts take over during this and he had deemed Renji as a threat. But unlike Hollow Ichigo, he still has bits of his rationality still intact (he must've already been drunk, but let's say he only chugged _one_ bottle, not two), so the way he hesitated and felt fear when Byakuya came to the scene (Astig mo, Kuya!) is explained. But enough of my ramblings; I'm sure you know what happened in the series at this point, so I won't talk your ear off.

And I should also address the matter of Byakuya's haori. Why? In the anime and manga, he didn't have it at this time. But when he made his reappearance, the haori was now on. Why this was so, I don't know. And I've been skipping a few (okay, maybe a lot; think from Nel's transformation to the middle of the Ichigo vs Ulquiorra battle atop Las Noches) chapters in the Hueco Mundo arc that I completely have no idea if Byakuya lost his haori while he was in Hueco Mundo or didn't wear it at all, because when he and Kenpachi came to fight Yammy it was not over his shoulders. Regardless of canon intentions, I _want_ Byakuya to have his haori on because . . . _just because_. Period.


	26. The World Without Her

Date written: 09/05/10 – 25/05/10

Posted on FanFiction: 28/05/10

A/N: You know, in hindsight, it is actually kind of hard trying to do three stories at one time. So much so that procrastination seems to remedy the accumulating stress (which is not solely caused by writing and plotting). Regardless, I'm back with another chapter. Though I got to say that the _real_ action starts next chapter. But sometimes the story must take into account the whole picture than concentrate on a particular spot. There wouldn't be proper character development otherwise.

* * *

**- CHAPTER 26 -**

**The World Without Her**

Rukia Kuchiki.

It seemed alien to her ears. Before she set foot in the Human World as a shinigami, she was always known as the proud and quiet adopted member of the Kuchiki clan. She didn't make the rules, but she followed them as if they were her lifelines. Pondering over the dramatic change of her self in just two months' time, she wondered where she went wrong. She did what she thought and felt was right, and in retaliation, Fate deemed it a good punishment from Soul Society was in order. She never intended to give Ichigo all of her powers, and if she hadn't a team would more likely find the last traces of her spiritual signature before changing her MIA status to KIA. If given the chance to change the past, she would've been unsure how to proceed. The chance was tempting, but what to do with it was the final verdict, and if she had no clue what to change then the opportunity would most likely be lost.

So there she walked along the maze corridor of Seireitei, with Renji Abarai and Byakuya Kuchiki on her flanks. Shinigami idling around these corridors turned to look at her, betrayal and disdain mixed into their sneers. They must've heard about her crimes already, which she found odd because she didn't even get to defend her actions.

_How good would that do, really?_

No, no good would come of it, but at least she should warn everyone about the new mutated Hollows she had seen before she came back here, regardless that her research on the Lückenhaft came up with nothing but the pictures she had taken in the Karakura cemetery. All the proof she needed was in the memory stick she had in her backpack. She didn't expect a cut in her sentence or at least a few additional days of life before her execution. All she wanted was to let Soul Society know about their existence.

"Why'd you do it?"

The question derailed her thoughts. She looked at Renji, unsure about what he meant.

"Why did you let a human have all your powers, Rukia?"

She didn't have an answer for that. But it seemed Renji took her silence as an answer in and of itself, and didn't ask anything further. They came to the Fourth Division barracks where she was certain her temporary prison resided, and Renji and Nii-sama took their leave once she was ushered into a room where her soul was removed from the gigai she had been inhabiting. Left with nothing to wear but a white kimono, somehow signifying her stripped shinigami powers, a few Fourth Squad volunteers escorted her to her prison cell. With guards as harmless as shinigami from the Fourth Squad, it would've been easy to flee but Rukia wasn't foolish. People were watching her every move until she was inside her cell, watching for any attempt of escaping. Doing so would just add more ammunition for the Chamber 46 bureaucrats to fire at her case.

Stepping into the gloomy cell with only a chair and a cot for furniture, she faced her escorts and asked where they were taking her gigai.

A boy with droopy eyes and chin-length black hair answered her: "Two officers from the Twelfth Division came to retrieve it. They said something about 'researching the anomalous energy resonating from it,' I think."

"And of the bag my gigai carried?"

The boy's reply made Rukia's stomach sink. "When that guy from Twelfth Division lifted the gigai onto a gurney, he ordered his partner to strip it bare and destroy all the clothes and items, including the bag."

* * *

His sleep was troubled, more so when the memories of what happened before he slept invaded the forefront of his mind. This led to involuntarily murmurs while staying unconscious. When he had gotten a good grip on the waking world, he pulled himself through the door between the worlds of real and dreams. There was no fog to hide the one person he had been dreaming of.

"Rukia!" Ichigo didn't sit up when he shouted. And it was a lucky call, too, because he would've headbutted some guy's face staring down mere inches away from him. It took another second to realize the last part, but he reacted the way anyone would have when they woke up like that: screamed his head off.

He pushed the man away, and the man did not resist. He was a tall dark-skinned man, with a noticeable pointed mustache and horn-rimmed glasses. His face would've gotten a below average to plain average in the intimidation scale; a far cry to what his size rated. This guy was as tall as Chad.

The man adjusted his thick glasses, and then said, "Your reaction time hasn't diminished, and you responded accordingly to your body's fight or flight response."

"Where the heck am I?" Ichigo questioned before taking the time to examine the room. He was sure he met this guy before . . . ah! "You're that big dude who's with the sandal-hat guy?"

"Memories fully intact. No harmful side effects at all," the man murmured, scribbling into a notepad he snatched from his apron's pocket. "Though remembering names is still a challenge for him. Again, my name is Tessai, Ichigo-dono."

"Uh, yeah." He didn't know what to say exactly. "I'll be sure to remember this time."

"Be sure you do. It would be a pain to remind you something as simple as a name every time."

Ichigo wasn't sure if he was looking into his sentence too deeply, but he could swear that that sentence implied he was dumb. His eyes traveled all over the room, realizing that he was once again inside the room where Orihime's body, Tatsuki, and Chad had been resting after that fiasco with the giant Hollow, this time with only one futon laid out on the floor than three.

He stood up, or at least tried to. Tessai's hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him back down while sliding him back to the futon. "Don't move too much, Ichigo-dono. Stay right here while I go and fetch the manager. He wants to talk to you."

Tessai stepped out.

Ichigo didn't like the idea of lying around and waiting, so he began rethinking of what happened before he passed out. His hand went to his chest, clutching the white fabric of his shirt. It was a little late to realize, but it seemed he had been moved back into his human body, and he had been wearing his usual nightwear. That was not the really weird thing he was thinking right now. The place where he was clutching had been the wound that man—Byakuya Kuchiki, Rukia's brother—had given him. It had been a fatal one, yet when he checked his bare chest there was no bandage wrapped around it or at least a scar—it would've definitely left something like that.

"I see you're up and about, Kurosaki-san," the sandal-hat guy said from the opened door. "Tell me, how do you feel?"

"Like I haven't been in a battle for my life," he replied stiffly, his mind more on his failure to save Rukia.

Sandal-hat entered the room, leaving the door open. His expression was of the devil-may-care kind, a face Ichigo he had seen on him most of the time, as if this whole affair was more of an entertainment than a crisis to him.

"Oh yeah, did you happen to see Ishida as well? He's injured too."

"The Quincy is fine, Kurosaki-san." Sandal-hat opened his fan and covered half of his face with it like a shy geisha. "His wounds weren't severe, so I doubt he'd die until another two days. Orihime-san healed him on the spot and he went on his way."

"Inoue healed Ishida?" _It must've been that kidou thing Rukia had been teaching her_, he thought, not realizing that it was more than that.

Sandal-hat ignored the interruption. "He did say some parting words to Orihime-san, though. You should ask her about that."

"Were you the one who healed me?" Ichigo asked.

"Not really," the blond man admitted. "I only carried you here where you can recuperate properly. Lying on the wet pavement during a July rain is a good way to catch a cold, you know."

"Where is she now?"

"In the next room, playing some video games with the children."

That didn't seem as unexpected as Ichigo would've thought.

"She looks quite cute in that yukata I let her wear, too," sandal-hat commented, most likely grinning behind that fan. Ichigo had the sudden urge to beat the guy until he was black and blue.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

The new arrival had his attention, and he couldn't avoid having his jaw drop down to the floor when he gazed upon what sandal-hat had been talking about. It _looked_ like a yukata, but he had never seen one where the bottom part ended at the middle of one's thighs. The rest of her legs weren't bare, however. Orihime also had on a pair of white stockings with frills. The yukata itself was a nice match for Orihime's hair, which had been done into a cute ponytail while leaving her forelocks as they were. It was basically a pink summer kimono with a green inner collar and a similarly colored ribbon attached to the back of an orange obi. The designs of the yukata were slightly complex, but the combination of imprinted flowers—some having red and blue checkered fillings—and the multitude of assorted mono-colored rainbows gave the impression of summer at its finest. Not even mentioning the fact that Orihime's name is tied to a summer festival that had occurred just a week ago.

"Ah, Orihime-san, how's the yukata?" sandal-hat asked. The urge to bash him to a pulp had increased fivefold, but Ichigo calmed himself before he raised his fist.

He averted his eyes from the girl, the blush on his cheeks the only sign of his embarrassment. "What the hell are you wearing, Inoue?"

"Eh? Oh, you mean this?"

Ichigo did not look, only nodded his head, thinking Orihime was pointing at her outfit.

"Well, my clothes got wet when we were in the rain, and I could've gone back to my apartment and changed, but I didn't want to leave you. So Urahara-san suggested I wear this yukata his friend was going to wear for the Obon festival tomorrow night."

"And you're not the least bit embarrassed about it?" he asked incredulously. He knew Orihime could be a ditz, but . . . surely she'd understand that wearing something as provocative as that—

"No, not at all. Should I be?"

Emi. Emi was probably the cause of her lack of shame. Damn her!

"Hey, sandal-hat, is her eyes . . .?" He gestured his own eyes, swirling his fingers for added effect and emphasis.

"Perfectly gray eyes. I would've thought that Orihime-san had gotten used to wearing the yukata after a few hours of wearing it. Wouldn't you be?"

_You think I'd be comfortable wearing a summer kimono for girls, ya sicko?_

"What kind of friend do you have exactly?" he asked the blond man, pointing at Orihime's general direction. Specifically, he was pointing at her yukata.

"The . . . uh, very _outgoing_ type, you might say." Sandal-hat laughed nervously. "She's always been like that ever since we were kids."

Childhood friends, huh? If this woman were as old and as eccentric as the sandal-hat guy, Ichigo believed it was best that he never got the chance to meet her.

"Where is she anyway?" Orihime asked the shopkeeper. "I want to thank her for lending me her yukata for tonight."

"I don't know. She's kind of shy around strangers."

Ichigo instantly knew the guy was bullshitting. He first described her as outgoing, and then shy? And with such a revealing and _moe_ outfit Orihime was wearing, that was the final nail in the coffin. Though that left Orihime's question open for answers, _if_ Orihime figured out the contradiction in sandal-hat's descriptions of the yukata's owner. Sadly, she didn't, and sandal-hat grinned behind his fan. Again.

Satisfied by the blond's answer—an outright lie like Ichigo had ever seen one—Orihime sat beside Ichigo. She looked serious and remorseful, as if someone were pinning the blame on her. "Kurosaki-kun," she started, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Ishida-kun asked me to tell you this: get better."

Like a doctor telling a man that he was pregnant, Ichigo had no idea how to react or even interpret what had been said. The way it was said, thinking that it actually came out of Uryuu Ishida's mouth, it sounded off. Completely out of character would be a better word for it, but then again, he had only started getting to know Ishida a few days ago. That kind of thinking was too judgmental.

Still, he was curious and wished for an elaboration.

Orihime said, "After I healed Ishida-kun, he said that the only one who has a chance to rescue Kuchiki-san from Soul Society . . . is you. He believes that Kuchiki-san can still be saved, but the person who would be there for her, the one strong enough to defeat all enemies, was not him."

Ichigo looked down, hands clenching, teeth gritting. "I'm the only one, huh?" he repeated sarcastically. "What does he think I could do?" He punched the futon hard, startling Orihime. "Rukia had already been taken to Soul Society! How the _fuck_ does Ishida think that I can go there when I don't even have a goddamn inkling of what to do? As far as I figured, Rukia is far out of our reach now."

"Actually she isn't," sandal-hat interjected. "There is another way for you and others"—he looked at Orihime—"to enter Soul Society. I can do that."

"You can?" Ichigo stood up from the futon. "Well then, what are we waiting for? We need to go there now."

"I wouldn't advise it, Kurosaki-san."

"Rukia is about to executed while we're all just standing here and doing nothing. We're only wasting time!"

Faster than he could blink, he found himself pinned to the ground, with sandal-hat's cane inches away from making contact with his forehead. It would've looked harmless, but the presence the cane started to give out intimidated him, as if it were saying 'I can kill you if I wished it, and right now I'm _demanding_ it.' It didn't feel like an ordinary cane anymore; this intimidating aura around it was more akin to the feel of a blade ready and willing to pierce his head.

"Let me finish," sandal-hat said, the fan gone and his devil-may-care persona momentarily nonexistent. He was all business this time. "I wouldn't advise you to go to Soul Society without preparing yourself. I didn't interfere with your fight because I wanted you to realize your limit."

So the blond guy was there when he had his ass whooped. With the cane still lingering above his face and emitting that anxiety-filling aura, he stayed quiet and let sandal-hat continue.

"Standing here and doing nothing? Wasting time? Don't make me laugh, fool. To attack the shinigami in Soul Society—their home base of operation, might I add—is nothing but suicidal. You didn't last ten seconds with a captain-level shinigami; what can you possibly hold up against twelve others?"

"Then what do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, eyes closed and hands clenched.

Sandal-hat moved away from him. "Ten days," he said.

"Huh?" Orihime and Ichigo said at the same time.

"In ten days, I will be training you and Orihime-san all that you need to know to survive your rescue operation. The standard operating procedure for a captured prisoner in Soul Society is a one month probation before they are executed. So you see, we have plenty of time to prepare. All I ask from you two is ten days. By then, you'll be ready."

"Uhm," Orihime uttered, pausing for a bit before saying, "what will you be teaching us?"

He smiled. And Ichigo rather liked it better when he had the fan covering it. "Apart from getting Kurosaki-san to regain his shinigami powers? That's for me to know and for you two to find out."

* * *

The next day, Ichigo went to school without problems from last night's injuries. It took him by surprise that Orihime did not use kidou but a different source of spiritual healing to help him with his wounds. She explained most of what she knew about the Shun Shun Rika that night, even the suspicion that they must have belonged to her biological mother. But at the end, it just left him with more questions.

Moving aside Orihime's suspected lineage for now, he pondered over the offer sandal-hat made. He made it specifically clear that he would not be teaching them unless both were in on this together. Sandal-hat elaborated that he had been watching Orihime for quite some time ever since Rukia told him about her dark persona, Emi. As time went on, he discovered that Emi was getting a better grasp of taking over, and not long after become the dominant side of her psyche. Since Emi is a part of Orihime's soul, there was no way she could be removed, only suppressed. So Orihime had no choice to but to join Ichigo's training because this was also a matter of not being overtaken by her alter-ego.

All of it just made Ichigo want to give up on trying to shield Orihime all the time. Whether it was by her rotten luck or being a natural danger-magnet, he could only soften the blow than prevent it. At that point, he left Orihime alone to make her decision. Sandal-hat wasn't asking for an answer right away, but the deadline would be tonight. It was either they both show up at seven at the shop or they leave Rukia to her cruel fate.

He hadn't spoken to Orihime since they parted ways last night. He wanted her to have the whole night and morning to think over what she was getting herself into. It would be dangerous and most probably life-threatening, but he didn't want to sway her into making the choice he wanted her to take. Having a near death experience made him reflect his past actions, and he realized that no matter what he'd say, Orihime would still be there, behind him or beside him, seeing their ordeal through like true comrades. She didn't want to be treated like fragile glass. Ichigo would do that if she really wished it.

As he entered the classroom, he glanced at the seat Rukia once occupied. Now it was being used by some other student whose name escapes him. His half-closed eyes, tired from the little sleep he had last night, gaze upon each head of his classmates arrived as early as he did. His usual time for school was a half-hour before the first bell; today he arrived an hour and a half before the first bell.

He took his seat without a word. Keigo hadn't come to school yet, so it was pretty much quiet and uneventful. The only students who came as early as he did were the ones who have morning practices. Needless to say, he was the odd sight of the morning, being part of the Go-Home club, but most of the others paid little attention to him. Thank God for small favors. He wasn't in the talking mood to anyone other than Orihime.

The minutes ticked on while Ichigo decided to spend most of what time he had before the start of homeroom by staring at the sky, watching the clouds. That didn't take too long, though; he got bored with the same scenery. He was not really into cloud watching, anyway. The door to the classroom slid open a few times, signifying the arrival of more of his classmates, but it seemed none of them were of his friends. Or so he thought. He heard a chair slid back and a muffled thud, the sound of a student's handbag resting on a desk. This should be familiar to him and should have been distorted by the amount of ambient sounds coming from his talkative classmates, but it carried to his ears like an echo bouncing around the walls of a deep cavern.

Ichigo looked over his shoulder, saw Orihime in her seat. They locked eyes, neither displaying what they really wanted the other to see, and Orihime closed hers before giving a friendly wave. She turned away then and didn't see Ichigo's perplexed face. He wanted to talk to her about Rukia, but now was not the time. It was too crowded now, and they'd barely say everything out in just one sitting. There was no choice but to wait until lunchtime.

"Good morning, Ichi—"

"Not in the mood!"

Ichigo had the mental image of bashing Keigo's head on his desk, but he swept it away. That would be too violent, even for him. Snapping at him first thing in the morning was a rare occurrence in and of itself, and it was also a sign that Ichigo should not be approached while in his foul mood. Keigo had to learn that the hard way once, going so far as to comment that "Ichigo is as scary as my sister during her period." Keigo survived; by then, Chad restrained him before he could lash out at him for making such an insulting remark.

Keigo reacted as intended. He backed away slowly to his seat, "Yes, Ichigo-sama. Let this peasant be out of your sight in no time."

"That's quite mean of you, Ichigo," Tatsuki said after placing her bag at her seat. "You don't seem to be in the best of moods this morning."

No shit.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

For a moment, he looked towards Rukia's former seat before sighing through his nose. He looked back at Tatsuki and said, "It's nothing. Don't worry yourself about it."

"If you say so." There was a few seconds of silence before she added, "Kuchiki didn't come with you today."

Ichigo stiffened. Tatsuki noticed.

"Something _did_ happen," she declared.

"Yes, Tatsuki, something happened." From the corner of his eye, he saw Orihime rising off her seat. "And if you don't want to get incredulous stares from our classmates today, I suggest you don't mention her name at all."

Tatsuki arched an eyebrow, understandably confused at his suggestion. "Why?"

"Because they won't remember her," Orihime answered for him. She nodded at him once before looking back at their mutual friend. "Kuchiki-san committed a crime and Soul Society arrested her last night."

Tatsuki stared at her, then at him, and then at her again. She opened her mouth and said a word which left both orangeheads stunned: "Bullshit?"

Ichigo was reminded of a time when he and Tatsuki were in middle school, and some upper-classman loudly declared his love for her. It would've been a nice confession if the guy took the time to get his timing and place right. Shouting out "I love you, Tatsuki Arisawa! Please go out with me!" in the middle of a busy hallway while Ichigo was accompanying Tatsuki to the cafeteria was a recipe for disaster. Tatsuki, in her very stunned and mortified state, could only utter that one word she just said right now.

And like what he had said to her back then, he replied, "Doesn't look like it, no." The upper-classman had walked away heartbroken when she rejected him.

"But . . . ho—wha—?" Tatsuki stammered.

"Tatsuki-chan, can we just continue this at lunch?" Orihime asked. She seemed to have concluded the same thing Ichigo did. Good, less explanations to be made.

Tatsuki nodded. "Here I thought things would settle down after what happened to us two days ago."

Orihime didn't comment. She was saving her words for lunchtime.

The two went back to their respective seats, leaving Ichigo alone to his own devices. He scanned the room again, trying to listen in on his classmates' conversations, wanting to hear it with his own ears that they forgot all about Rukia; surely some of the boys would make a bit of a fuss with what's-his-name currently sitting in her seat. He heard none a single word about Rukia. Their Homeroom teacher entered a short while later and took today's class attendance. She said something about a surprise announcement she'd be making at the end of school, and that they should all prepare for it. Ichigo didn't care one way or another; more important things were swirling in his head right now. And because of this, he barely listened to any of the lessons for today.

He was eager for lunch to arrive.

* * *

Orihime noticed that Ishida's empty seat halfway through first period. It made her worry, but it was not her business to find out why he skipped; regardless, she already had a good idea about his reason. Her eyes panned towards the back of the man she had a crush on. It caused a pang in her heart to see Ichigo look so down in the dumps, as if the world betrayed him for an insignificant reason. Her hand slipped into her bag, grasping at the thing she had planned on giving him later on. She wanted things between them to improve, and she had bought this item around a week ago, back when everything hadn't turned complicated yet. The previous week seemed more like a dream or a time in her life that happened a thousand years ago. They were both fitting metaphors.

Lunchtime came.

She was half-tempted to take the item from her bag and give it to Ichigo, but the timing was not right. When they were done eating, their conversations would have to turn to a very serious topic, and interrupting it with just a simple thing as giving Ichigo a gift didn't seem right in Orihime's eyes. After school, maybe?

Carrying her lunch for today, she grabbed Tatsuki and Ichigo, and dragged them to the roof. She told them that lunch takes precedence to any other thing they have to tackle. She expected Ichigo to retort negatively to her idea, but he decided to be submissive this time and went along with her plan. Tatsuki, being crowded by the majority, gave in easily. Their subsequent lunch was a quiet affair, something Orihime found disconcerting, like they were a trio of death row inmates having their final meal before they walked the green mile. She tried to liven up the tense atmosphere, but nothing really progressed further than deflating the tension to a tolerable level. At least for her.

They were the only students on the roof today. Keigo probably warned others that Ichigo Kurosaki was in a bad mood and was eating lunch here. Ichigo and Tatsuki looked nonplussed about this development, so Orihime had to give in to the majority than go with her feelings and try to defend Ichigo's honor. Besides, more pressing matters were at hand. Their seclusion for this hour was good; nothing would be holding them back for the whole recount of last night.

Tatsuki listened attentively to their story, how Rukia ran away, got captured, played the damsel in distress only to refuse help because it seemed that the shinigami were only after her and Ichigo's death.

"And they just left without another glance?" Tatsuki questioned once Orihime rounded up the rest of the night with their staying over Urahara's shop. With separate rooms, of course.

Orihime nodded. "I think they only came for Kuchiki-san."

"But they stated clearly that they wanted me dead," Ichigo interjected. "They expected me to die from the wounds Rukia's brother gave me." His hand touched the spot on his chest where he felt the most searing pain last night.

"They must've gotten overconfident, I think," Tatsuki theorized. "I mean, if these shinigami are so much the hotshots that Urahara-san and Kuchiki made them out to be, then they must've been underestimating your abilities." She pointed at Orihime. She came to this conclusion because she had his fair share of encountering chauvinist martial artists in tournaments who think they were all superior . . . right before she clobbered them onto the mat and took the win.

"Could be," Orihime agreed. "Or it might've been because Kurosaki-kun's wound was nothing _but_ fatal, and they probably thought that my attempts would be wasted."

"I guess it was fortunate they left before you finished healing me," Ichigo said, although there was something in his eyes that Orihime couldn't really identify. Regret, maybe? Anger?

"Fact remains is that this Soul Society believes that you have died," Tatsuki said. "And I'm sure you two can use it to your advantage if you get Kuchiki back."

"_When_ we rescue Rukia back," Ichigo corrected with conviction.

Orihime nodded vigorously. "And we will."

"So what's the plan?" Tatsuki asked. "You're not just gonna go over there and cause a ruckus, right?"

"Urahara-san said that Kuchiki-san will stay alive for another twenty-nine days," Orihime said.

"Something about preparing her for her execution," Ichigo added.

"So you still got around a month before she gets beheaded, huh? Definitely a lot of time."

"We won't be coming to school after today," Ichigo said, to which Orihime nodded. "We have to train as early as possible."

"I wish I could help you guys," Tatsuki said. She rubbed her hair, as if she were combing it. She still couldn't see ghosts, and her reiatsu had reverted into that of an average human's. Maybe if she had been given the time to develop these powers before she was forced to use it on that day, it would've stayed with her up till now.

Orihime smiled at her friend, snaking one arm over her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. "Just give us your support, and we'll be fine with that. Ne, Kurosaki-kun?"

"Yeah."

A black cat, perched on top of the roof's access door, listened to them quietly. It was glad to see that the two teens who'd be going after Rukia Kuchiki were dead-set on their goal. Urahara should be pleased.

* * *

By the time their final period ended, Ochi-sensei went into the class before any of the students could start fixing up the contents of their bags so they could go home. She stood behind the podium, lips splitting into the Cheshire cat's grin.

"Time for that little announcement, kiddies," she said. "Here's a little pop quiz, first."

Everyone groaned.

"Sensei, it's already after school!" one of them said.

"We've just gotten through three quizzes consecutively. Can't we take a break?" another said indignantly.

"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you all can go home," was Ochi-sensei's answer. The class quieted down. "Question number one: Why did all the teachers give out your summer homework early?"

She was greeted with silence. In the next few seconds a hand shot up in the air.

"Yes, Kunieda-kun? Figured it out already?"

Ryo Kunieda stood up. "I believe that the teachers gave us our summer homework early, not because they wanted to have a head start, but because they won't have another chance to."

This brought some whispers from the students, and some were beginning to come to the same conclusion Ryo did.

"And why we won't have another chance?" Ochi-sensei was still grinning.

Ryo answered swiftly, "Because summer break has come a week early."

"Correct! A perfect score for Kunieda!"

At this shout of revelation, the entire class jumped for utter joy. One even stood up on his chair and yelled "SUMMER BREAK!" as loud as he could. Unfortunately, the chaos that ensued in the room guaranteed for chairs and desks to be shoved by blissful teenagers. Keigo's face met the floor no sooner than when he made his yell. But that did not ripped the grin from his face.

In the midst of everyone's loud chatter of what they were planning for the additional vacation week and while Ochi-sensei was doing what she could to calm everyone down, Ichigo and Orihime shot each other knowing looks. They were relieved to know that school would not be an issue for now.

As the students filed out of the classroom like a stampede of prisoners during a prison break, Orihime told Ichigo to stay in the classroom with her awhile. She already sent Tatsuki to the door, so that things wouldn't get too complicated once she presented the gift waiting inside her schoolbag.

When it was just the two of them, Orihime lost her nerve and fidgeted in her place. This was a lot harder in action than when she imagined it in her head—though maybe the absences of UFOs flying in the sky and pink flowers suddenly blooming around them were factors in her confidence shutdown. This wouldn't be the first time that how she imagined a situation would be a great disappointment of her expectations. She just wanted things to go perfect when she gave him the gift. Just _that_ would be enough for her . . . wouldn't it?

_Or maybe you were expecting more than a 'Thank you, Inoue' or a grateful smile? Something more. Something _much_ more._ This little voice inside her head was not Emi's but that of her own; an obscure part of her psyche that demanded more than what she was contented with, wanting to suck everything dry and leave behind something that looked like a prune.

_I'm fine with what I'll get_, she retorted to herself, finding it far easier to fight with herself. Too easy, as if this was the basic norm of the universe and should be expected of her. _That_ thought made her think about Emi's place in her life. Orihime tried visualizing the _Big Picture_, the giant landscape photo of what she perceived of her life—past, present, and future—but no Emi was to be seen. It was only Orihime standing in the middle of the picture, with all her friends standing right beside her. All of them smiling, even Ichigo, who had one arm wrapped around Orihime's waist. Like close friends. Or like lovers.

That_ is what you _really_ want, isn't it?_ the other part of her mind questioned. _Not just gratefulness, but also attention. Loving attention from the man who had stolen our heart._

_Stop it. I don't what to think it._

_Deny all you want, but you know I'm right._ She became silent after that. She said what she wanted to say, so there was no point in dragging the internal conversation longer than necessary. Besides—

"So what's the holdup?" Ichigo asked, breaking Orihime out of her thoughts.

"Heh?" was her intelligent reply.

"You told me to stay, wait for the others to leave. Well, we're alone _now_. Is this about the training? Are you having second thoughts?" He almost sounded hopeful in that last question, but she pretended not to notice.

"No, this is . . ." What was the right word? "Different." Right, point gotten across, but still inefficient. No use crying over spilled milk, though.

Ichigo arched a brow. "Different, how?"

Taking a deep breath and willing the wild thumping of her heart to settle down at least five BPMs, she opened her bag and pulled out the gift. It was a small box similarly measured to the area of a standard playing card and as thick as a deck of said cards. Frankly, it would've passed off as a blue-colored case for a deck of playing cards if not for the red ribbon wrapped around it. She extended her hand towards Ichigo, gesturing him to take the box.

"What is this?"

"Um . . ." _Say it. Just say it. It's only three words. Three simple words. That's right, open your mouth and say_, "Harrueeaaahh."

Ichigo halted his box examination to gaze questioningly at her. Orihime wanted to find a dark cave somewhere and commit seppuku.

"You say something, Inoue?"

She breathed in, out, in, out. Her heart was thumping a little slower than the piston march it had been doing, but it was still drumming against her chest. With the quiet resonance of the empty classroom and her own nerves forcing her to retreat and regroup even when she was already in the middle of the battle, she listened to its rhythmic beat. It calmed her down much faster.

"Inoue?"

"I'm okay," she answered, realizing that her voice turned out raspy, as if she hadn't drunk for a whole day. She cleared her throat. "I'm just a little thirsty."

"So what is this?" He held out the box.

Here it was, the moment of truth. She inhaled once more, and then blew out the air, purposefully prolonging it. "It's a present for you of course."

"Eh?"

"Happy Birthday, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo had a complex look in his face—a weird concoction created from a mixture of surprise, remembrance, and gratitude. "Who told you today was my birthday?"

"Tatsuki-chan told me," she answered right away. It was a simplified version of how she really found out. Orihime learned from Tatsuki that Ichigo's birthday was two days before Tatsuki's, July Seventeen. That was the gist of it; what Orihime omitted from her explanation was that Tatsuki only commented about her being two days younger than Ichigo and not explicitly telling Orihime of his birthday.

Ichigo shrugged at her answer. He eyed the small gift on his palm and asked, "Is it okay if I open it now?"

She nodded eagerly. "Of course! It's yours, after all."

Unwrapping the ribbon wrapped all over the box, opening the top cover, and lifting the object inside it, Ichigo was struck with another complex expression, one that Orihime had a bit of trouble really figuring out this time. It had some bits of surprise—or probably a lot of it—and also bewilderment. She'd admit that it _was_ a strange gift to give, but she was drawing on straws on what to use as a birthday present. She hadn't gotten to know Ichigo all that well yet, and he was quite a private person. Rock music was his favorite genre, but there were so many varieties in that genre (punk rock, hardcore rock, classic rock, country rock) as well as the bands that Orihime couldn't decide which album to buy. Not to mention the possibility that Ichigo could be picky with his choice of music. Orihime wanted a really great present, not something thrown on a whim or a hunch. Which led her to this decisive point.

Ichigo stared at the silver-chained necklace. The pendant dangling at the bottom was a small silver cross with an orange jewel at its center. Orihime had bought the necklace thanks from a friend of her brother who not only sells jewelry but also takes custom-made orders. Her original plan was to buy a '15' pendant, her reason was that it was a misnomer of Ichigo's name—if the numerals were named individually, you'd get 'ichi' and 'go.' But it wouldn't fit well with Ichigo's current age, sixteen. Instead her brother's friend suggested the cross, to which Orihime found it to her liking almost instantly. There was just something about the center jewel that captivated her, almost hypnotizing her. She was sure Ichigo would like it, too. At least she hoped so.

"Well?" she asked. The silence was deafening. She _had_ to break it. "What do you think?"

"It's great. Thanks." He smiled at her, prompting her mental self to swoon while her physical self blushed like a tomato.

When Orihime finally restarted her mental processes, Ichigo was already wearing the necklace around his neck. The pendant hung neatly above his clavicle. Orihime gave herself a mental pat on the back for getting a correct estimate on the length of the chain.

"I'm glad you like it, Kurosaki-kun." She smiled back, although belatedly.

"Come on, let's go."

They exited the classroom and then the school.

When both went on their separate ways towards their respective homes, they packed up some basic necessities for their ten-day training and headed for Urahara Shouten.

* * *

The proprietor of the Urahara Shouten waited for the two orangeheads outside his shop. He played with Yoruichi the cat to pass the time, and Yoruichi looked slight offended when Urahara took out the big guns: a stalk of bristlegrass. The bastard knew she was weak against _that_. Tried as she might, she couldn't help the more playful instincts of her feline persona and was succumb to it. She pranced up and Urahara took that as a cue to wave the bristlegrass back and forth. Her yellow eyes tailed the movements of the stalk, finding the perfect moment to exact her pounce.

Now!

Two paws out, she launched a full frontal assault on the bristlegrass, but Urahara pulled out in time and her paws met the soft, warm ground. She mewed cutely. How humiliating. Once she got herself under control again, Urahara would pay dearly for this transgression. But for the moment, her evilest enemy was making its next move, provoking her into making another blunder. Not this time.

"You're fifty years too early to be able to catch the bristlegrass, Yoruichi-san," Urahara said, as he swung the object of her full attention back and forth, like a pendulum, as if he were hypnotizing her. And Yoruichi really felt that way. Her paws were aching to grab the infernal thing!

She mewed again before making another pounce. Urahara swung the bristlegrass out of her reach. Fine by her, because what she just did was a feint. Reestablishing her paws to the ground was the easy part; changing direction in less than a second without resorting to her shunpo ability was the not-so-easy one. She would've caught the bristlegrass too quickly if she did use shunpo, and where then would the fun be in that? Her feint worked, fooling the blond into thinking his stalk was in the clear.

Yoruichi pounced once more and her claws struck gold. She mewed happily.

"Ah! So fifty years have already passed . . ." Urahara murmured. "How time flies."

"As if that really happened, sandal-hat!"

"Hmm?" He looked up. Yoruichi turned her head, making sure that her claws were still firmly embedded into the bristlegrass. You never know if Urahara would pull a fast one on her in the most unexpected moments. "Oh, Orihime-san, Kurosaki-san, I didn't see you two there. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not really," Orihime answered. "I think it's cute you're getting along well with your pet cat."

"Oh, you misunderstand. Yoruichi-san is not my pet at all."

"Yoruichi-_san_?" Ichigo echoed, putting emphasis on the suffix. He was probably thinking, _This guy must be crazier than I first thought._

"If it's not your pet, then whose is it?" Orihime asked.

"No ones. Yoruichi-san is just my best friend!" Urahara answered too eagerly.

Yoruichi was sure the male one would immediately think of her childhood friend as pitiful, seeing he was desperate enough to designate a cat as his best friend. They might've understood a dog, but not a cat. A black cat at that.

"Right," Ichigo drawled. He shrugged the shoulder bag to a more comfortable position. "Let's get to training."

"Right you are, Kurosaki-san." Urahara let go of the stalk of bristlegrass, dusted his pants of imaginary dust, and did his trademark grin-behind-the-fan. "I would love to start for the both of you, but there's still some unfinished business I have to attend to."

"What kind of unfinished business?" Ichigo asked.

"Nothing serious. But if you insist in training immediately I'll let Yoruichi-san handle this little errand. Orihime-san, would you mind if you help my friend out?"

"No, not at all," she answered.

"How the heck can a cat do your errand?" Ichigo asked.

Which Urahara ignored. "Great! Just leave your bags at the same rooms you've stayed in last night."

Both nodded—Ichigo more reluctantly—and followed after Urahara into the shop, leaving behind a small black cat to play a little more with the bristlegrass. But it soon got boring when the fun out of catching it diminished. Still, her objective with Orihime today would be more than enough to waste hours of the afternoon off. It was also a good way to test Orihime's sensory abilities, seeing that she and Urahara saw her and Ichigo going straight towards Rukia's location without the need for asking directions. Preferably Urahara, in this case.

Only Orihime exited the building. She walked straight towards where Yoruichi was and relayed a message from Urahara.

" 'Mission Start!' was what he said."

Yoruichi shook her head. _Leave it to Kisuke to act the childish one_. Though she found it odd that the girl did not feel any inhibitions in talking to a cat.

"Well, if we have nothing better to do here, let us go," Yoruichi said, highly expecting a shriek or a mental overload. The latter came true. She then waited for Orihime to reboot her mind after the initial shock of seeing and hearing a talking cat. But the girl's words and overall intake of this situation was completely unexpected.

"Oh my god! You must be Luna in disguise!" she shouted, with gold stars in place of her eyes. She picked her up into the air, as if she were trying to toss a newborn baby. And she was laughing excitedly.

Maybe Urahara was right: Orihime _must_ have inherited her father's spontaneous insanity.

At this moment, Yoruichi the cat couldn't help but sweat drop.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

The summer festival Ichigo referred to when he was "checking out" Orihime's outfit is the well-known Tanabata festival, if you haven't guessed already. It's a festival about the constellations of Altaïr and Vega (referred to as Orihime and Hikoboshi). There are some differences pertaining to the date of the festival—some celebrate it around July 7, others celebrate it around August 7—but since Haruhi celebrated Tanabata in July 7 in the _Bamboo Leaf Rhapsody_ arc, I'm going with that. And since Ichigo's birthday is on July 15, it all comes together nicely. I also took the liberty of changing the timeline a bit, moving it a week backwards, because it's stated that the Soul Society Invaders commenced their operation a little after 1 a.m. on August 8. That would mean, canonwise, Rukia was taken into custody on July 21, while in this fic she was captured on the night of July 14.

The yukata I used for Orihime is one that I've seen her wear in deviantART. Just type 'Orihime' and 'yukata' together, and click this: **Yukata Fashion-Orihime** by _~Swt-Team_. When I saw the picture, I instantly thought that it was an outfit much more fitting for Yoruichi. Or Rangiku.

I also would like to additionally inform that Orihime only "rejected" Ichigo's wounds, but pretty much left his Sleeping Soul and Chain Link as they were. She has the power to reject, but surely there should be a limit of what she _can_ reject; a thought to reject the existence of what she wanted to reject—in this context, the fatal wound—must be the limiter. If she were to have no control whatsoever to that, then wouldn't that mean she'd also be rejecting the existence of Ichigo's arm, the blood flow, the pain receptors which gives him his sense of touch, the body hair, and other things? To me, the way she uses her Shun Shun Rika is all about intent. That's why Tsubaki is considered her weakest link because she doesn't like the offense, just the defense.

And last, but not least, did anyone figure out who is this 'Luna' Orihime referred to? The hint: A talking black cat. Now get a ticket for a trip down memory lane and soon, dawning realization will be subjected upon you. If you're a 90's kid, that is. Ah . . . good times, good times.


	27. Let There Be Light

Date written: 01/06/10 – 06/06/10

Posted on FanFiction: 09/06/10

A/N: For all you readers out there, I must inform you that I write things for a reason. Some of you may have already picked up on the small plot hole concerning Orihime's zanpakuto and she kept using it without a problem _at all_, but I'll tell you now that it was intentional. This chapter explains all of it. Whether you were one of those keen observers or not, it doesn't matter to me. What matters is the effect. Once you finish the chapter, answer this question: "Were you surprised?"

* * *

**- CHAPTER 27 -**

**Let There Be Light**

"THIS IS AMAZING! To think that such a vast place could be found under the house of a simple candy-maker with a cool hat!"

Ichigo just stared, not really sure if he should make a snide remark about Sandal-hat stating the obvious. After he had set his belongings in the room he had stayed in yesterday night, Sandal-hat and his minions (he didn't know what else to call them) directed him to the trapdoor behind the counter in the shop. When you look below the trapdoor, all you'd see was darkness and a ladder almost completely consumed by it. He was not afraid of the dark or anything, but he hadn't seen the merit of climbing down to the basement for his shinigami training. He was proven wrong the moment he laid his eyes on the barren landscape that made up the wide open space. It was as if he were standing in the middle of a wasteland but with a sky as clear and crisp as a fresh Monday morning. And for a brief moment, he wondered where the light source for this big room underneath the shop was.

_Best not to go there_, he thought, sliding both hands into the pockets of his jeans. _Ignorance is bliss, after all_.

"No comment at all?" Sandal-hat asked, his fan flapping like a fish out of water. "Tessai and I worked so hard just to fix all this in one day. The least you could do is give us a reaction."

Ichigo had the distinct feeling that the blond was bullshitting again, but he played the ignorance game once more. He just wanted to start the training as soon as possible. "Oh my, this is amazing," he said monotonously, "I can't believe such a vast, crummy wasteland was created under the house of a shaggy old businessman."

"Thank you." Sandal-hat grinned and bowed.

His eyebrow twitched. "I wasn't complimenting you."

"You should," he said, stopping his fanning to do his trademark grin-behind-fan, "because for the next ten days, this place will be our playground." As if Sandal-hat was bipolar, his carefree façade was replaced with the face of a battle-ready soldier.

The next thing Ichigo knew was his soul getting ejected out of his body. Whether he liked it or not, whether he was prepared for it or not, his training had just begun. And Sandal-hat didn't look like he was going to pull any punches.

* * *

Yoruichi once more wished that her feline instincts weren't so dominant when she was in her cat form. At the moment, Orihime was gushing all over her just because she believed that Yoruichi was this 'Luna' in disguise. Yoruichi didn't see any connection with her and the moon, but she couldn't voice this out because she was busy purring like a pet appearing submitted to its master. How disgracing. To think that Orihime would immediately find her biggest weak point while in this form. Her neck and jaw were quite susceptible to the girl's gentle rubbings.

"Rrrrr . . . Orrrrihime, stop forrrrr a second," Yoruichi said. "This is serrrrrious."

She complied.

"I want you to refrain from doing that to me again."

"Eh~? Why?" she pouted.

"I am _not_ a pet cat, got it?" Her words were laced with a subtle threat, one that promised immense pain. Yoruichi understood Orihime could be dense at times, but also knew she wasn't stupid to not realize the severe repercussions if she were to continue treating Yoruichi as a mere housecat.

When that was out of the way, she started with what she first intended Orihime to do. Her command was crisp and clear: find Yasutora Sado and then Uryuu Ishida. Orihime had looked confused at first, so Yoruichi had to explain that it was necessary for the girl to detect and pinpoint the spiritual signatures of the two aforementioned boys. While Urahara was already training Ichigo, Yoruichi was just starting with Orihime's training, which had gauging her sensory abilities as the appetizer. The main course wouldn't come until Orihime found out the name of her zanpakuto and subsequently achieved shikai, but Yoruichi withheld that tidbit for later. It was better to take things one at a time.

Orihime didn't need any more convincing; she dove into her sensory mode (it was only dubbed as such because Orihime stated it out loud, like an anime character shouting out their signature attack-slash-ability) with haste and went to work. Yoruichi thought that it'd take a while for Orihime to grasp the whole concept and power of her innate talent, believing that Orihime had been doing her sensory scans subconsciously, but the orangehead continued to surprise her. And she also had a feeling Kisuke must be having the same thought she had.

"I think I found Sado-kun," Orihime said. "He's somewhere in the shopping district."

Yoruichi wagged her tail, left and then right. "Well, no use wasting time here. Let's go find him."

Orihime nodded.

They crossed town without any kind of conversation between them. With Yoruichi's current state, it would be unwise to start talking like a fable character when there were so many wandering ears tuning in and out at any noise that'd come their way. The crowds around Karakura town during these hours (nearing five o'clock in the afternoon), especially when they were still passing through the market district, were often flooded with their numbers that it was like crossing a jungle. Yoruichi was finding it a bit annoying to constantly avoid the onslaught of stomping feet and swinging shoes as she followed Orihime.

Finding Sado was the easy part; persuading him to come with Orihime after she asked a few questions (it'd be useless if Sado was part of the majority who forgot Rukia) to explain the whole situation better was the hard part. The reason why Sado was in this district was because he was accompanying his band-mates, Gitano and Harutoki, to help the former decide on what kind of electric guitar to buy; Gitano wanted to "upgrade" from acoustics. Sado promised him he would help, and he was a man of his word.

Yoruichi, while perturbed that Orihime gave in so easily and saying that she'd approach him on a later date, didn't urge her to go back and get the guy by force. By the end of the day, it would be Sado's choice whether to continue with his spiritual discovery and pitch in for the rescue mission or play ignorant and never lift a finger. But somehow she didn't think the giant would choose the latter option; his honor might be as strong as his physical strength. She was looking forward in teaching him.

Their next target was the Quincy. And long story short, it didn't go as well as she'd first thought, although she had expected his full rejection of the notion of being trained by a talking black cat. He was probably thinking he'd have to dress up in a tuxedo, a top-hat, and a billowing cape, wear a white eye-mask like in those masquerade parties, and carry a red rose at all times. Then again, he might not have seen that old show, so the whole Tuxedo Mask routine would be a whole new experience for him. Pity he refused, though. It would've been fun to mess with the kid.

She also didn't believe his reason for the refusal. He was out in the middle of the woods, isolated from the city and society. The only thing he brought with him was that box and a bag he both hid before Orihime got closer to him. Yoruichi had a lot of experience when it came to people lying (she wasn't the former Commander-in-chief of the Onmitsukido and Corps Commander of its Executive Militia for nothing) and the Quincy's excuse came off as a one-hundred percent lie. He wanted to train for the rescue mission; he just rather wanted to train himself alone, segregated from human contact as much as possible. Yoruichi had no choice but to respect that; it had to be a Quincy thing.

As they made their way back to Urahara Shop, already near the edges of the woods, Orihime apologized to her.

"For what?" Yoruichi asked.

"For failing in recruiting both Sado-kun and Ishida-kun."

Yoruichi laughed. "What are you talking about? You passed my test with flying colors."

"Heh?"

"Orihime, this test is not about recruiting—I even expected the Quincy's rejection."

"What? Then what was I being tested for?"

"Your extra sensory perception, of course."

"ESP?"

"Yes, but not in the way you're imagining. The human notion of ESP is different to the spiritual aspect of ESP. It's a very rare gift, even in Soul Society. But even then, those gifted few have their limits in sensing reiryoku. Tell me, Orihime, did you feel something strange while you were searching for the boys' spiritual signatures?"

She nodded. "It was a little harder than before. I can sense Kurosaki-kun with no prob—" She stopped talking, stopped walking. Her confusion turned to worry. "Kurosaki-kun . . ."

"What is it?"

"His reiryoku . . . it feels like it's been severed. Like . . . like . . . he died."

Yoruichi stayed indifferent, but her whiskers flicked upwards by a fraction of an inch, almost unnoticeable.

* * *

"_What the hell is wrong with you?_" Ichigo yelled, gripping the broken chain attached to his chest. He really wished he could get up and beat the hell out of that blond asshole. Didn't he know what he just did? But currently his henchman Tessai was pinning him down. "_With my Chain of Fate severed I can't get back to my body. I'm gonna die!_"

"I know that," Sandal-hat said offhandedly.

"You _do_? Then what the fuck, man? You're pissing me off more and more."

"It's all part of your training, Kurosaki-san. When that chain reaches your chest, then that's the end. You will turn into a Hollow."

Ichigo gulped.

"_But_," he emphasized, "there is a way for you to avoid that fate. By becoming a shinigami."

A distinct memory popped up in his head. "Like how Inoue became one? That's impossible! I'm not related to a shinigami or anything."

"Ah, but you're missing something vital, Kurosaki-san. Rukia's shinigami powers inhabited your soul for how long exactly? Around two months, correct? Let's not forget your gargantuan amount of spiritual energy. These two factors—prolonged exposure to the spiritual presence of a shinigami and containing enough spiritual energy to rival low-classed shinigami—helped evolve your soul. As of this moment, the innate portion of your soul that has become a shinigami is closed off. You just need to find the key and open its door. And fast."

It would be another few months when Ichigo realized that what Kisuke Urahara had said then was complete and utter bullshit.

* * *

"I wonder how many more surprises you have in store, Orihime," Yoruichi said. "I'm already amazed at your ability, but this display takes the cake."

"But what about Kurosaki-kun? He must be in danger."

"Don't worry. It's just Kisuke's over-the-top training regimen."

"Urahara-san?"

She nodded. "Right now, Kisuke's doing what he can for Ichigo to retrieve his shinigami powers. It would be unwise to interfere."

"But his reiryoku—"

"You have to trust Kisuke, Orihime."

"Do you?"

"With my life." _But not Ichigo's_, she thought. She knew what Kisuke was trying to do, but it was a choice Ichigo had made, and he was honor-bound to repay his life debt to Rukia at any means necessary. It was the most plausible reason she could think of for a teenaged boy to wage battle with the most guarded place in existence, aside from the Spirit King's realm, all for the sake of one shinigami's life.

"Will Kurosaki-kun . . . be all right?"

To that question, Yoruichi had no answer. "That would be up to Ichigo's will." She could only be vague. "Moving back to our earlier conversation, I have to confess about something I forgot to tell you." _More like refrained from saying, actually, but she doesn't need to know that._

Orihime's brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"You're under a kidou spell."

"Eh? Who? When? How?"

"It was Kisuke when he urged you outside of the shop. I told him to put that spell on you; I had a hunch, and I wanted to capitalize on it."

Orihime rubbed her back, as if she were searching for a 'KICK ME' sign pasted there. "What does the spell do?"

"Disrupt your ability to sense other spiritual beings. Do you see the implications?"

"That . . . the spell didn't work?"

She shook her head. "Quite the opposite. It was working flawlessly."

"Then, why can I still sense spiritual signatures around me?"

"ESP," Yoruichi answered simply.

"ESP?" Orihime echoed. She still looked confused.

"Yes. You should also know that for humans with high spiritual sensitivity, sensing spiritual signatures is as easy as looking through your own eyes. Therefore, all shinigami—even ones fresh out of the Academy—have the ability to sense other beings with their reiryoku. It'd be hard to detect Hollows otherwise."

"Then what does ESP do?"

"Those with ESP have a more advanced form of the spiritual sensor inside every one of us. It is how these gifted individuals use them that could mean the difference between detecting a Hollow a mile away and detecting a Hollow in Hokkaido."

"So this means I just have a bigger radar than other people?"

"Not only bigger, more sensitive as well. There are some kidou spells where a shinigami can mask their spiritual presence. The more experienced shinigami, including all the captains except for one, can mask their presence at will. To those with ESP, _none_ escapes their radar.

"But even then, your ability should've been cut down by that spell. For you to sense Ichigo's reiryoku to a detailed level, it's just extraordinary. Can you sense other beings in that long distance?"

Orihime shook her head. "No, I can only sense Kurosaki-kun. And right now, he's feeling really angry for some reason."

Yoruichi laughed. "I'm glad he is."

"Why?"

"Because if he isn't, then he must be wrong in the head."

* * *

"A—A—AMAZING! Who would've thought that such a vast place is under Urahara-san's house!"

"Ah, finally someone who appreciates our handiwork, Tessai," Urahara said down the Shatter Shaft.

"It lifts my heart so, Manager," Tessai replied, but kept his posture as Ichigo tried once more to climb out of the deep hole he and Tessai had fallen in while having both arms tied behind his back.

"Welcome back, you two," Urahara said to the nearing females. "I trust that it was a success?" His question was directed to the cat, who nodded. "Excellent. Now come over here, Orihime-san. I'll have to remove the spell."

Orihime walked closer to him, though a little apprehensive because his arms were spread out as if he were about to give her a big hug. "Where's Kurosaki-kun?" she asked.

Below the pit behind Urahara, she heard a disembodied grunt, some consecutive taps like footsteps, a shout, a thud, then the disembodied grunt again.

He looked at her, as if to say 'Does that answer your question,' but not in the sarcastic way, more like friendly banter. With an outstretched hand, he maneuvered it to Orihime's nape and tapped that part twice. She winced both times as the first tap deactivated the limit seal placed on her spiritual radar and the second tap revitalized it from its stasis.

"There we go, good as new," he announced, once again covering half his face with the fan. "Are you ready for your training, Orihime-san?"

Orihime gulped. She rubbed her hands together. "I—I hope so."

"Don't worry," Yoruichi said. "You'll do just fine."

She nodded in her direction, but still uncertain about how well she'd do. Urahara brought up his cane and hit its tip with her forehead, ejecting her soul out of its physical shell. And like it was choreographed, she knelt down as soon as her feet touched the ground, spread her arms out like how Urahara did earlier, and caught her body before it landed. She set it down gently and then closed its unblinking stare, those gray eyes, _her_ gray eyes, glazed over before the eyelids covered them up. This was the first time she just stopped and gazed at what would technically be a dead body, though she liked to call it a soulless body than dead. The implication brought back memories of that night when she had first become like this, a shinigami.

Ichigo's curses at the bottom of the circular pit breached her thoughts.

"Will Kurosaki-kun be okay?" she asked Urahara.

"That depends upon his will," he answered. There was an edge in his voice, like a blade pulled from its scabbard, its sharpness glinting, proudly displaying that it could cut you down if you made a wrong move. Like he wanted Ichigo to pull through, but the odds of him doing it were unknown. "He only has less than three days before Tessai takes the next step."

Orihime opened her mouth—

"Let's concentrate on your training first. And _no questions_ concerning Kurosaki-san. Period." He looked damn serious about that order, too.

Near the ladder, resting on top of a low rock, Yoruichi shook her head. Only Urahara saw this motion, but he paid it no mind. It would do no good if he kept wearing the kiddy gloves around the female orangehead. He needed her to be as strong as Ichigo once they started their way through Soul Society. This had to be done.

"Shall we start?" he asked her.

She couldn't trust her voice at the moment, and she kept taking fleeting glances at the pit where the two children were staring at the bottom. The redhead child was talking animatedly at whoever was down there. Still, she nodded at Urahara's question.

"Then the first order of business for you is your shikai."

"My shikai?" She tested the familiar word, her mind reeling back to when she had that last conversation with the kimono woman. The woman had said that Orihime would be on her own until she heard her name and awakened her shikai form. Ever since then, Emi was taking cheap shots in trying to regain supremacy over Orihime's body, physical and spiritual. It was a battle of will Orihime had no trouble winning, but the usual slipups of her control were often costly, albeit not exactly unwelcomed. Emi was just too unpredictable to be considered as an ally or a foe.

"Orihime-san, draw out your sword."

She complied to the shopkeeper's request, unsheathing her six-foot nodachi, followed by the usual flash of light, with practiced ease.

"Hmm. Have you noticed the oddity yet?"

"Oddity?" _Is he talking about that flash?_

He pointed at her blade. "You just drew out a very long blade without overextending your arms, as if it were intangible."

Orihime was silent, but then widened her eyes, the brunt of this new piece of information threw her off a few feet, figuratively. She stared at her shining blade, as if doing so would make it spill its secrets. All this time, she had never noticed the strangeness of it; it just felt so natural pulling it out, like there was no need for an explanation as long as her zanpakuto was sharp and willing to live up to its general name and cut down her enemies.

When it comes to unsheathing swords, the swordsman has to be careful with longer blades. In Orihime's case, the nodachi is six feet long, while she was only five feet tall. Consider how long her flail arms would stretch before they reach their limit. All Orihime had been doing was drawing out the sword like she had seen in TV, but she never thought about taking the sword's length into account. It was like the sword—

"I already have a theory as to why that is possible," Urahara said. "It must be your zanpakuto's natural affinity."

"Natural affinity?" she echoed.

"Yes. An affinity with nature. Fire, water, wind, earth, light, shadow, everything that pertains to nature. Not all zanpakuto have a natural affinity—some are more unorthodox—but those who do, more often than not, have their affinity tuned to their personality. Care to take a guess what yours is?"

She shrugged, absolutely having no idea.

"It's light."

"Light?" She stared at her sword again.

"Yes, concentrated light that becomes tangible to the touch. But its weight becomes negligible. The flash when you unsheathe your zanpakuto is it materializing itself in real time. While encased inside your scabbard, however, it becomes a bladeless hilt. In this case, it explains _both_ why you have a scabbard that's only three feet long and why you can swing your zanpakuto around as if it weighed no more than a six-pound dumbbell."

Orihime couldn't rebuke that logic. And her hilt guard seemed to hint at it as well, since it was shaped like her hairpins, which were shaped after the sun, the main source of light in the Earth.

"This might be enough of a hint for you to have a head start in learning your zanpakuto's name. I can already guess what it is, but I won't give you more than what I already gave."

She nodded in understanding. A deep connection with her zanpakuto was needed, therefore she needed to learn the kimono woman's name on her own.

"So with that said, let's start the battle."

"Battle? What battle?" Orihime instinctively took a step back when Urahara drew out the blade inside his cane. She didn't like where this was going, and the predatory gleam in the shopkeeper's eyes (the shadows forming under that hat only made it more predatory) was coercing her to shiver.

"We don't have a lot of time, Orihime-san, so I'll have to be frank with you. Shinigami learn their shikai better if they are in a life or death situation."

Her stomach sank deep, and she broke down in a cold sweat.

"In other words, I will be attacking you with the intent to kill. And if Emi were to suddenly come out . . ." He remained silent, and Orihime didn't need to ask because she knew what that silence meant.

"On the count of three, we will start. One."

Orihime wanted to voice out her opinion, that they were rushing this. But her voice box seemed to have locked itself because she only had her mouth open like a gaping fish, and the clearest sound you could hear coming out of it was a muffled choke.

"Two."

The look in his eyes didn't waver. He was serious. About everything. Orihime wished she could just hide under a rock and hope for the best. She had been in these life-or-death situations before, but they were never this tense because Urahara's eyes alone were enough to paralyze her in fear. Her hands were shaking badly, her stance unguarded and full of openings. She was a sitting duck.

"Three!"

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I ask again, were you surprised?

You know I find it a little funny that nobody commented about the "plot hole" I wrote about Orihime trying to unsheathe a six-foot long sword without help a thousand chapters ago. This was an intentional "hole" because Orihime's zanpakuto's nature was already known to me. I only implemented what I knew while playing ignorant like the characters in the story. I mean, small five-foot-two girl who has never done weight-lifting can suddenly carry a six-foot long nodachi without straining herself, can sheathe it in a scabbard half the length of the sword, and is also able to unsheathe it as if she were pulling out a mere dagger? Surely someone should've noticed that. No insult intended, of course. It just adds into the "shock value" once I reveal it like this, to those who weren't looking too much into it. Expect more surprises to come in the Soul Society arc.


	28. Ama

Date written: 16/06/10 – 04/07/10

Posted on FanFiction: 07/07/10

A/N: I've been a little busy with my new Naruto fic. Wanted to lessen the hype on my muse before I move back onto this one. It didn't really work, but this was the best I could do on such short notice. It took too long, in my opinion, because I think I let the idea ripen too much that it began to rot. This is what I had been able to salvage thus far.

* * *

**- CHAPTER 28 -**

**Ama (**天**)**

She couldn't move. Her body was as still as a statue. Urahara's dash felt like it had slowed, as if she were seeing things focus and dilate like in the Matrix movie. The odd glint of his blade almost looked like the flare of a gunshot right before the bullet penetrates her torso, where her heart, beating as fast as a piston, was. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the thought of dying and facing death head-on. She wasn't ready, but Death, who _always_ gets its way, does not wait for anybody.

His rushing footsteps were close. Then there was a skid and the sound of air—_WHISH!_—tearing, like the sound of swinging a badminton racket, only much sharper and profound. She didn't need to open her eyes to know where the maker of that sound was heading for. Her neck tensed, awaiting an inevitable decapitation.

But after five seconds of silence—other than the occasional taps and grunts and screams in the pit—she opened her eyes, which widened even further when she saw that Urahara's sword was inches away from slicing the left side of her neck. She blinked and gulped and shoved a stuttering breath out.

Urahara was not the one who stopped the blade; he had fully intended in decapitating her. A dark-skinned hand was holding the sword's middle, barely touching it more than the fingertips. The person who saved her was facing Urahara, while the man himself covered his face with his hat, as if he didn't want to look at Orihime's savior at all. Though Orihime was still recuperating from the utter scare, her mind automatically understood the reason for Urahara's recent action. Her dark-skinned savior was a female. And utterly naked.

"I thought we agreed I'd be the one training her, Kisuke," she said, her voice sultry but still had an edge of exasperation. "You haven't forgotten about that, have you?"

"No, not at all," Urahara said, face unreadable and unseeable due to the hat. He pulled back his sword, positioning it where the tip pointed to his right. "But I thought you weren't actually serious when you left it up to me to explain to her about her training."

"I wanted to get some rest before she and I started. We won't be stopping until she released her shikai, after all."

"That's probably worse than _my_ training," Urahara remarked.

Orihime shuddered. She really hoped he was only joking.

"Do you think you're up for it?" he asked.

"What do _you_ think?" she asked back.

"I think you need to put some clothes on first before you and Orihime-san begin."

"What? Is my body not good enough eye-candy?" She swung her shoulders alternatively back and forth. Even from behind, Orihime could picture her dark brown breasts jiggling like water balloons. Not only did she talk in a sultry voice, she acted the character best suited for it.

"Orihime-san might not be comfortable fighting a sexy woman such as yourself in her birthday suit," he answered. He neither sounded nervous nor embarrassed. It was like he was used to this woman's extraverted personality.

"Oh? My, my, that's the first time in decades you've called me sexy, Kisuke," she said, head tilting to one side. Urahara's shoulders rose by an inch. "Are you peeking through that hat?"

The way Urahara said his last sentence, Orihime noticed, seemed as if he had a good eyeful of this dark woman's body before or maybe during their conversation. She disregarded the 'decades' comment; it didn't sound important at the time.

"Hmm . . . maybe," he said, accentuating it with a shrug.

"Pervert."

"Um . . ." Orihime blurted. Their attention turned to her, but she found her mouth unable to form the words she wanted to say. She was captivated by the woman's beauty. Her purple hair and brown skin were both dark colors, but her eyes did not follow that tradition; they were a pair of shiny golden orbs, eyes that spoke of adult maturity while retaining the often-lost childish wonder. Her face formed an almost aristocratic feature, and Orihime had a hard time _not_ associating the woman with someone of noble blood. Maybe she was, and Orihime's instincts were correctly guessing it?

The woman smiled at her, arms crossing under her breasts, almost like she was displaying them for anyone—even a fellow person of the same sex—to see and ogle at. Orihime did not ogle _per se_; it was just the first time that she had seen a busty woman in person who could beat her in breast size. They looked to be around Double-D cup. For the first time ever in her life, Orihime now understood the feeling Tatsuki had whenever they compared body proportions—the one she dubbed 'Breast insecurity.'

"My face is up here, Orihime," she said. She didn't sound angry, just playful. Orihime felt bad vibes from the odd glint coming from those golden eyes, and it was not because of their natural shine.

"I'm sorry," Orihime apologized. It was the most sensible thing to do in this situation. "And excuse me for asking, but who are you?"

The woman laughed, and behind her Urahara still had that hat in front of his face. "Tell you what," she said, "I'll give you three chances to answer that question by yourself."

"But I don't even know you," Orihime said.

"Yes, you do. Just guess. No harm in trying, right?"

She pursed her lips, moving her head downward out of reflex whenever she pondered. And in consequence, she had the image and proof of the dark-skinned woman's natural hair color burned into her mind. Neatly trimmed and triangular—

Orihime gasped and did a swift one-eighty degree turn. "I'm sorry!"

"Hmm?" The woman sounded puzzled. Then, she let out an 'Ah' that dragged awhile. "Wow, you're as much a pervert as Kisuke here, Orihime."

"So says the one who's naked in public," Urahara murmured.

"I—I'm not," Orihime answered shyly. Her cheeks were set to boil.

"You still haven't given a guess," the woman said.

"I think you've had your fun, Yoruichi-san."

"Kisuke!"

"Eh? Yo—Yo—Yoruichi-san?" Orihime couldn't believe it. "Is that really you?" she asked, her back still to them.

"Guess the cat's out of the bag."

Orihime wondered if that was supposed to be a pun joke.

"Yeah, it's me. You didn't really think that I was a talking cat all my life, did you?"

"No," Orihime answered, "I thought you were once a handsome and dashing man before being trapped inside the body of a cat after the Moon Kingdom was destroyed millennia ago, and since you're not Luna then I thought that maybe you are her twin brother."

It was Urahara's turn to laugh. "A handsome and dashing man," he repeated in a mutter before conceding to another laughing fit. Orihime heard a THUNK! and a groan of pain. Urahara remained silent after that.

"You thought wrong," Yoruichi said. "Relax for a bit. I'm going topside to get some clothes."

"Y—Yes, ma'am."

"And not of this 'ma'am' stuff, kid. Titles like that make my skin crawl."

"Yes, Yoruichi-san."

"Good."

Orihime heard another whish and she winced. No sword made contact with her body. When she turned around, Urahara was replacing his hat onto his head. Yoruichi was nowhere to be found.

"Where'd Yoruichi-san go?" she asked him.

"Upstairs." He pointed to the ladder. "She's the fastest being you'll ever meet."

"I . . . I see."

"I think it's only fair to warn you, Orihime-san. Yoruichi-san is not a slacker when it comes to training. She's here to help you achieve shikai, and she'll do everything in her power to make you achieve it."

"Will I be fighting her?"

"No."

Orihime sighed in relief.

"She'll be doing something much worse," he added forebodingly.

"Come on, Kisuke," Yoruichi said as she descended ladder. She was garbed in an orange shirt over a black undershirt and black stretch pants. She had also done her purple hair into a ponytail. Wow, did she dress up fast! "Stop scaring the girl."

"Am I? Last I remember, I'm merely telling her the blunt truth."

She approached the green-clad shady man and leveled a glare. "Blunt, yes. Truth, a big fat no."

"You wound me so, Yoruichi-san," he said and swerved around as if overdramatizing a scene of being shot, complete with one hand clutching his left chest.

"Just get back to your student; I have my own to worry about." She then turned to the student in question, and cocked her head to a spot in the land between two elevated areas—which looked like mini-plateaus, in Orihime's opinion.

Orihime nodded in understanding and followed Yoruichi to the designated place. She sat down when prompted, laying her zanpakuto to her right as she assembled her legs to a cross position. Yoruichi did the same, though her mirthful appearance turned to one of utter seriousness. She meant business now.

"While I agree with Kisuke that the easiest method for one to unlock their shikai is in a life-or-death situation, I doubt someone like you would make much headway from something that crude."

Orihime felt like she had been stabbed. It was not her fault she abhorred fighting and violence unless it was to defend her loved ones. She had been brought up by her brother that violence was never the answer, and she took that life motto to heart. It was easier said than done for her to actually use her sword on something that was human—like the shinigami, for example. Hollows were okay, since they were far from looking and acting like her own species (Shinigami or human? Which did she really prefer?), but the bulk of the matter still stood. She also relied too much on Emi to end disputes. That had to change. And fast.

"Then . . . what shall I do?" she asked the purple-haired catgirl.

"Something much more elegant; more fitting for a princess, don't you think?"

Orihime blushed at her smile. It was sincere and quite seductive. Oh my, was she becoming like Chizuru?

"Take your sword and place it on your lap," Yoruichi said.

Orihime complied, positioning her zanpakuto in a way where it would be easier for her to unsheathe it at a moment's notice. She thought back to Urahara's revelation of her zanpakuto's natural affinity to light and how it was made from it. The flash when unsheathed, the almost weightless feel, it was a big eye-opener, but how much truth was there in his words? Somehow her instincts were telling her that the shady man was omitting something in his explanation, something crucial maybe. But these conspiring thoughts would have to wait.

"Close your eyes," her sensei instructed, and she complied again. "This method takes time, but the results are far more harmonious than forcing your zanpakuto's spirit to let you use their power to save both your lives."

Something compelled her to begin the breathing exercises Tatsuki's cousin had taught her while she had been learning kendo. Orihime took a deep breath, inhale through her nose and exhale slowly through her mouth. She felt peace.

"Meditation," Yoruichi continued, "is an important aspect when a shinigami wishes to speak with their inner spirits. A zanpakuto is not just a sword. It's an extension of your soul formed into a weapon.

"But they are also independent. As such, communication is vital to create harmony between you and your zanpakuto. Your zanpakuto is your partner, your rival, your teacher, your student, your charge, your keeper. In short, you're two sides of the same coin."

Orihime kept her eyes closed, her breathing exercises sedated and proper.

"There is no _right_ way to teach you how to communicate with your zanpakuto, Orihime. It all comes down to you and your zanpakuto's willingness to listen."

* * *

She sat on the bench, waiting. Everything around her was covered in a thick, gray fog. So much like Emi's own inner world. The major difference between them would have to be the appearance of the world without the fog. Emi's was a barren wasteland. It was the same place where Orihime had strengthened her resolve as she searched for the sharp sword hidden within the graveyard of dull ones. Her own world without the fog was the same as before: a dirt road leading to a cliff, and on either side were sakura trees in full bloom as if it were eternal spring. But inside the fog the sakura trees were dead, barren, rotting, unseen by the naked eye.

This had been the case before, back when she had still been known as Tsukiyomi and when she had been wielded by a man, Orihime's father. The only times when there had been a rapid change in the scenery was when her old partner had achieved shikai and then bankai. She went through some changes along with the scenery—even the zanpakuto spirit transfer from her old partner to his daughter—but they were relatively minor. Like her hair had grown two inches, her fingernails were suddenly painted with black nail polish, and, when her previous partner reached bankai, her clothes and appearance morphed into a more provocative manner.

This, however, would be the first time that she'd experience being used for shikai by the hands of another wielder. It would be an experience not without some comparisons, her selfish desire to see which was better, the father or the daughter, but it was ultimately in the hands of Orihime if she was worthy to wield a powerful zanpakuto such as her. She was, after all, named after a goddess—a much better predicament than when she had been named after a _god_, as in a _male_ god (Tsukuyomi).

Regardless, she was prepared for when Orihime would summon her, come for the chance to achieve her shikai. She had waited for weeks before the girl in question had come into the far reaches of this realm inside Orihime's soul. Coming to this foggy place all by herself was already a sign that she was close to realizing her name. Hope swelled in her.

"You have grown a bit, child," she said, prompting a pink blush adorning her charge's cheeks.

"It's only been a month, oba-san," Orihime replied. "I don't think I've grown so much."

She cocked an eyebrow. Last she remembered, she hadn't sired any children . . . unless you count giving birth to yourself via soul transfer from parent to child, but that would be too complicated to easily comprehend. Still, it was something to address her by when the girl honestly had no other word to use. 'Madam' would've sufficed, but she believed Orihime thought that it signified a veiled distance, too formal to actually create a more meaningful connection between them. She may be looking too deeply into it, but her observations and deduction hadn't failed her before. Most of the time, anyway.

"Not in body," she said, "but in mind. You've become more assertive, but it still needs work."

"Well, I . . ."

"Do you wish me to lend you my power?"

Orihime hesitated, then nodded. "If it is all right with you."

She shook her head in disappointment. "This is what I am talking about, child," she said, her narrowing eyes boring into Orihime's flinching form. "You act as if the world can bend to your will if you ask politely."

"_**Like a spoiled princess."**_

She swung her right arm to her side, her long sleeve flapping along. "Emi! Silence!" She installed a barrier to further isolate her world with Emi's, so as to make sure that the annoyance couldn't speak a word at all while Orihime was here. It was thoughtless of her to not put up the barrier in the first place. She looked back at Orihime, who was clenching her hands to her chest, her chin touching her clavicle.

"Emi worded it too bluntly, but she still stated the truth, child." She moved closer to the girl. "Not everything can be given to you so easily." Taking her umbrella from the unseated side of the bench, she fondled with the handle and tip. It gave her some comfort. "That is why if it cannot be given, sometimes you have to take it by force."

"Eh?" Orihime's head shot up, eyes as wide as they could go. "But . . . but . . ."

"I do not wish to lend my power to a person who may be weaker than I am. We zanpakuto have minds of our own, child, just as what Yoruichi Shihoin has said indirectly to you minutes before. We have our own will, our own desires, our own reasons to become strong. If you wish for my power when I do not wish to give it to you, what other option is there for you to take?"

Her umbrella was not a mere accessory. She was a zanpakuto spirit, a being created for the purpose to become a weapon. She twisted the umbrella's handle and pulled it out. A flash of light rushed through the crack, and she stood there holding a six-foot long sword. She tracked Orihime's eyes, wanting to see if she wanted to cower and back down or stand her ground and fight.

Orihime took one big step back and held onto the sword strapped to her waist. Her hands were shaking.

She gripped her sword tighter, eyes narrowing further at the act of cowardice. That pacifist outlook had to go. "Stand your ground!" she shouted, to which Orihime yelped. "Do _not_ let your enemy know you are afraid. If you wish to protect Tatsuki, if you wish to not fall behind and watch Ichigo's back as he fights against the odds alone, if you wish to show to everyone that you can fight like a true shinigami . . ." She took a deep breath. She swung her sword until the tip pointed at Orihime's face, their gap barely an inch apart. "Then fight me!"

She gave Orihime a moment to contemplate those words. That moment was up, and she charged forward. She wasn't about to go easy on her; Orihime needed to learn this lesson now rather than later.

* * *

Learning from experience, Orihime instinctually unsheathed her zanpakuto and blocked the kimono woman's attack. Steels clashed, and she was pushed back a few feet as her feet dragged through the dry dirt. She caught her breath, but the kimono woman was already on the offensive again. Orihime maneuvered her sword to the left just in time to parry her opponent's second attack, but she did not take into account the length of the parried sword. She realized this too late when she tried to lean her upper body back at the last second. She saved herself from getting half of her head cut off, but her cheek was cut, starting from the bridge of her nose, dragging to the spot just below her right eye, and ending with a slight flicking feeling at her ear. She lifted a hand to touch the wound as it seared with oozing blood. Her fingers were stained with the red liquid as it cascaded down to her jaw.

"The kiddy gloves are off," kimono woman said, "as the saying goes. Prepare yourself!"

Orihime shifted her position, turning back to the kendo lessons she had learned, and protected her head from another attack. This one was stronger than the last two combined that if she hadn't braced for it, she would've been left defenseless as her sword was thrown off her hands. Wanting to get a small opportunity of reprieve, Orihime jumped a few feet back, placing a good bit of distance between her and her opponent. But—

"Stand your ground, I said." The kimono woman's figure was like a shadow in water. She then disappeared in the fog. "This will be your undoing, child."

Orihime looked left and right. She was greeted with silence. The enemy was inside this fog, but she'd have to be as blind as she was. Orihime needed to calm down; panicking would be dangerous in this situation.

"Are you blind, child? Blind from the fog? Blind from your fear? Or blind from your hesitance?" Her voice echoed in her surroundings, its tone sounding more disembodied, as if she were speaking through many layers of glass.

Instincts kicked in. Orihime ducked and rolled forward. Behind her there was a crash as if the dirt had collided with something with the strength of a battering-ram. She saw the kimono woman lifting her sword from the deep crevice she had sliced through the dirt. Her eyes were cold, callous.

Orihime shuddered, but stood her ground. She hefted her sword into the basic kendo stance, trying as best as she could to adjust to the added length of the nodachi since she had been using a standard shinai throughout her kendo training. An offensive move would be a bad call; she needed to prioritize defense first, assess her opponent second, and counterattack last. At least that was what she believed to be the right chain of action.

With steel looking as blood-hungry as a raging predator, the kimono woman charged at Orihime once more, her blade cocked back as if she were about to swing it like a baseball bat. Orihime tried to intercept the attack with another block, but the kimono woman disappeared from her sight. A rush of air disturbed the fog, somewhere to Orihime's right, and she saw this from the corner of her eye. Her mind reacted fast to her enemy's instant displacement, but her body didn't.

Orihime's right waist seared in pain, and she screamed.

* * *

In the outside world, Orihime sported a look of concentration, beads of sweat cascading down her face, a nasty cut from her right cheek to her ear, and recently a deep gash on the right side of her waist. It bled like crazy, but Yoruichi didn't bother stopping it. This would be a battle solely between Orihime and her zanpakuto; she had no right to interfere, even if it was just to heal the spiritual manifestation of Orihime's soul. Those were the rules laid out: a true one-on-one fight.

Yoruichi looked over the pit and heard Ichigo's cursing and grunting as he made his way out of the pit. It was only the first day but his will to push on was almost limitless. Humans tend to give up after hours and hours of futile attempts of escaping, but Ichigo's will had not been swayed or cracked from the slow passage of time. She rarely met humans who had the same amount of determination as that orangehead. Turning back to her own student, she wondered if the girl also shared this high determination like her fellow orangehead and half-shinigami.

_Well, the answer to that question will come when she stands victorious in the fight_, she thought, and a smile graced her lips.

Orihime gasped, another cut on her cheek, the left side, opened wide. The blood slid down her cheek like the beads of sweat around it, yet it also gave the impression that she was shedding red tears. Another cut, this one on her neck, shallow and long and only splitting the epidermis.

"Hang in there, Orihime," she said, not caring if the girl heard her or not. She looked at the sword lying on Orihime's lap. "Tsukiyomi is not a zanpakuto who likes playing around."

The battle between shinigami and zanpakuto had just begun.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

My original intention was to have the whole fight and then reveal the name of Orihime's zanpakuto (her new name, anyway). But I believe that the whole fight, along with a small denouement, need to be inside one whole chapter by itself. I've already got some ideas piling up against each other, forcing my muse to organize them and estimate the word length neglecting cuts and edits. It's almost epically long, though that depends on the fact if I give the green light for one particular fork in the story where I choose between taking the shorter and longer paths. And I'll admit this to you now: the longer paths winning. Because Emi gets involved.

天 - From what I've researched, it means "sky; heaven." Now the pronunciation 'ama' is archaic. It's now called 'sora' or 'ten.' For me, it's a very fitting chapter title because of Tsukiyomi's involvement. The reader won't understand until the next ten chapters or so, but I'm still content with the title.


	29. Terasu

Date written: 22/08/10 – 08/09/10

Posted on FanFiction: 08/09/10

A/N: **Here's a quick summary to refresh yourself:** Orihime was supposed to be taught by Urahara, too, but Yoruichi decided to take over so that Urahara can concentrate on Ichigo. Orihime and Yoruichi move to a secluded place and started the former's training. She entered the world of her zanpakuto and was forced to fight her. Move on to the next chapter, please.

Last thing I want to mention: This chapter is completely raw. It hasn't been tenderized, marinated or even cooked yet. (My analogy for first draft and revisions) So expect some typos, missing words, and other confusing stuff. I'll fix them up later, when it's not one in the morning here.

* * *

**- CHAPTER 29 -**

**Terasu (**照**)**

Orihime clutched her stomach, blood pouring down her hakama and staining its dark fabric. Her knees gave out and she knelt down, gritting her teeth to suppress another scream that awaited release. She breathed deeply, eyes shut tight, lips thinned, and released that breath with a shaky groan. The one who gave her that painful wound stood in front of her, unmindful of her suffering, her eyes glazed like the fog around them, her face etched with a mask of stoicism.

"I will kill you if I have to, child," the kimono woman said, and that brought a cold shiver down Orihime's spine. She realized that the kimono woman meant what she said, would follow through it when Orihime was deemed a failure.

Orihime pushed her body up, her knees supporting her hands. She hefted her sword into the standard kendo stance, but her hands were shaking vigorously like a withdrawing drug addict. The kimono woman's words replayed in her head in a voice as monotonous as the speech of a robot. _I will kill you if I have to_. There was no hesitation in that sentence, no lie, no joke. The woman wasn't about to hold back anymore, and Orihime had to face this opponent head-on if she wished to survive.

But in a moment of desperation, a stray idea came to her. It beckoned for her attention and wished to spread its influence in every corner of her psyche. This was an uphill battle she was facing and the inevitable result of it was her lying down on the ground, her clothes ragged and torn and stained with massive volumes of blood. Her blood. It would make a pool under her body as the life faded from her. And in her last sight of the world, she would see the kimono woman's blade colored red. A lone drop of blood would travel down to the tip, detach from it, and land on the dirt, not splashing but splatting.

_Run away._

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her zanpakuto spirit stood firmly where she was, unmoving, but her eyes stayed calculating and hardened. The thought of escaping this place had come to her a few times during the short battle she faced against kimono woman. That thought now was plaguing her mind, her senses, her instincts. This was not a battle she could come close to winning. Urahara, Yoruichi, even the kimono woman . . . they expected too much from her. This was impossible.

_And I'm going to die._

Orihime didn't want that. She feared death like any other person. While she knew that there really was a heaven somewhere—Soul Society, it was called—she wasn't sure how dying a second time could affect her soul. Would it implode? Cease to exist? Be brought down to hell? Nothing was for certain. And her fear capitalized on that aspect of the unknown. The panic rat within her had been thrashing around its cage for a while, but she forced herself to keep it away from influencing the expressions on her face. Panicking never got her anywhere, but self-control also had a limit. When she realized that death was again close to her, breathing down her neck, inhaling her scent, her life force, her very soul, so close that his skeletal hands could already grab ahold of her throat and suffocate her, the panic rat was let loose.

Orihime released the panic into her face and let it guide her out of the hole she had fallen into. Her panic-filled mind picked a random direction in the foggy forest of dead sakura trees and willed her legs to start running. She passed dozens of trees, tripped against roots, bumped eight trunks, and ignoring the pain she felt all over. The wound on her waist was the most troublesome as it protested every time she swayed her arms as she ran. She never even realized that tears were falling down her eyes, half of them mixing with the tears of blood leaking from the cut on her right cheek.

She never looked back, didn't want to look back. She knew that if she did, she'd die. She would die. Die. Die. Die.

There was a flicker in the fog, an array of distorted colors of red, yellow, and pink, that gave Orihime pause and prompted her to halt. The color assortment cleared up one moment later, and there stood the kimono woman, her sword propped up and ready for a downward swing. She swung the blade. Orihime dodged just in time to her right. Panic clouded her adrenalized perception, keeping her ignorant of the fact that the kimono woman's recent attack was but a feint.

Suddenly, a tight grip curled around Orihime's neck and pushed her towards the nearest tree trunk. Instinctively trying to get rid of the hand with its vise-like grip off her throat, she put half of her efforts on her hands while the other half were on her legs, which were flailing about, trying to kick the choker somewhere undesirable if she got lucky. The thought that she felt like the ground had become nonexistent was not lost to her. Breathing was hard. She had to pull that hand off her throat.

Her efforts weren't needed, however, as the kimono woman ejected Orihime from the dent of the tree and threw her to another one. This tree looked like a giant version of a broken twig after Orihime was hurled right through its trunk. Her back, which received the brunt of the impact, felt just like it. She tried to stand, but her lower back was screaming out in protest. There was a burning feeling around her neck, like it had been a friction-partner with nylon rope, and it hurt to breathe. The best she could do in her condition was to slump her aching back on a neighboring tree and try to catch her breath.

The kimono woman gave no such comfort for her enemy. She appeared in front of Orihime again, her blade's shine catching her attention more than her callous stare. The kimono woman swung her arm once more.

Orihime closed her eyes, waiting for that sharp sword to slice her neck. It didn't come for her neck. Instead, it sliced open her left cheek and scraped the skin of her nostril. Her hand came to that spot while she bit back every ounce in her partially crushed throat not to utter another scream. She stopped the scream, but the groan was audible enough, though it sounded gruffer and parched. The cut she currently sustained was deep and open enough for her to slip her pinky in. She tasted blood in her mouth, a spoonful of it. She swallowed rather than spat; she didn't know if she could still spit with how searing hot and painful the wound was every time she moved her jaw. A tiny, innocent part of her mind wondered if swallowing the blood she was losing would prevent her from becoming anemic or worse, die from blood loss.

"Why do you hesitate?"

Orihime looked up at the kimono woman, who stopped her relentless attacks and lowered her sword—Orihime realized that it was her nodachi.

"Why do you hesitate?" she asked again. "I thought you were serious when you wanted to rely on your own strength to help the others. Yet here you are, running away from your problems.

"Yet again." She spat out. "Cowardice. Utter cowardice, this is. I'm disappointed in you."

The kimono woman thrust her sword.

This time Orihime believed it was for her neck and the trajectory point was quite close. Close, but not accurate. The tip of the blade came close to cutting open an artery, but the best it could have done was graze the skin of her neck. The sword stabbed through the tree behind her, as she sat there, shocked, disoriented, and in great pain.

Strangely, the kimono woman let go of Orihime's nodachi, turned around, and walked away. "But I am not in the mood to beat on the weak," the kimono woman said. "I'll give you some time to think about what you really want. Clearly, you haven't gotten a breather after what Kisuke Urahara and Yoruichi Shihouin told you. As far as I can tell, Orihime, you only have two choices to make." She stopped walking. "The first choice would be to give up. It is obvious that you are not prepared to face me, not prepared to control me. Dissonance between the sword and the swordsman affects the intricate art of swordplay, making it as broken as a shattered mirror. To wield me in that state would be futile and look as if you're signing your own death warrant. And nothing could be more disgraceful to a zanpakuto than to have her master lying dead on the ground because her master couldn't use her zanpakuto properly."

Orihime thought that the nodachi, positioned just below her left ear, vibrated after the kimono woman spoke, as if it were shouting out its agreement. She glanced down, but saw it was as lifeless and still as any sword stabbed half of its length through bark and wood. Imagination, maybe, but Orihime bit her lip for some reason she couldn't completely fathom herself.

"The second choice would be to grab your sword, drop your fears entirely . . . and face me head-on. Standing for your beliefs, willing to change to better yourself. That was the path your father had taken back when he was as young and unassertive as you are. When something comes to stop him, he would shoulder his goals and shrug off his doubts. He was a man who believed in his strength as well as himself. Tell me, Orihime, are you afraid to die?"

Orihime didn't answer.

"I see," the kimono woman said, her voice whispery. Loudly, she added, "There will come a time when you'll understand that there is nothing to fear in death. It is living you should be afraid of."

With those words, the kimono woman continued her walk. "I will be by the Cliffside if you wish to stay and fight me again. Do not even think for a moment that I'll let you ponder here again, though. My sword will stab you in the heart before my mind would consider it."

* * *

Emi bided for the right time. She had been doing this ever since she had awakened when the princess died. One of the things she had immediately noticed after awakening was the passage of time. The last she remembered before the old hag sealed her away was Orihime's body looking barely a day old. And there she was, on the night of her awakening, looking as fine and sexy as she had imagined herself to be. And along with the awakening, she gave a small second to contemplate the onset of Orihime's memories downloading—for lack of a better word—into her psyche. She was now "up-to-date" and used these new memories to good use. She remembered the family tragedy when Orihime was three years old. She remembered Orihime's days in elementary school, when the local kids bullied her because of her red-orange hair, and how she tried to hide away the emotional abuse from her own brother. She remembered that day in middle school where Orihime was in the same class as her future best friend, Tatsuki Arisawa, how it was because of her that Orihime decided to make her hair long again. She remembered the assorted memories of Orihime's and Ichigo's encounters; how, slowly but surely, Orihime began to see Ichigo as more than just a mere acquaintance—a friend of a friend, if she wanted to stretch the meaning out. It was a small spark, and Orihime innocently thought that these feelings were nothing more than her seeing Ichigo as a fellow companion in the unusual hair color department. In time, it grew. By the time Orihime reached high school, the feelings progressed further and she finally realized that she had been having a crush on the male orangehead for quite some time.

The Ichigo encounters before Emi came into the picture made her smile. It was cute, in a way. But also stagnating. There was no progress whatsoever, and while she believed herself to be the polar opposite of Orihime—whatever Orihime likes, Emi hates, and vice versa—when it came to the matter of love, be it platonic or romantic, that was one of the things they had in common. While Orihime loved Ichigo, Emi did, too. But while Orihime was shy around Ichigo, Emi held no inhibitions. When she loved that man, she was open to it.

Opening herself to the realm of minds in which she and the old hag resided, she sensed the presence of the princess. Her reiatsu felt chaotic and uncontrolled while her physical manifestation inside this world was hurt and bleeding. Emi understood even if she wasn't there to witness it: the princess and the old hag were fighting, so that the former could unleash her shikai. Well, what they didn't know was that Orihime learning shikai would be a double-edged sword.

The time had come to initiate her plan. This fight would surely weaken the old hag and she would capitalize that.

Still open to the realm, Emi unleashed her dark spiritual energy everywhere, changing the foggy plain in which she resided in into a black and starless void in space. There was no light, no mirrors, no color other than the blackest of black in her environment. And it was only spreading even farther, beyond the barriers where her realm and the old hag's realm had been separated. The old hag would probably be too busy fighting Orihime to realize that this was unlike the other times she tried to take control of the whole soul.

There were times in Orihime's life where she leaned to very dark thoughts. Emi had been the one to whisper in her ear in one of Orihime' dreams that the bullies were nothing compared to the powers they—she and Orihime—possessed and the only fitting way to get back at them was to kill, murder, destroy. But the old hag would stop her at every turn, and out of the twenty-eight times Emi had done that method, Orihime could only remember two, and those were fuzzy and bewildering at best. Emi's influence did not reach too far ever since the old hag came into the picture.

But not today. Today would be the day she would come out in full. No more holding back, no more barriers, no holds barred. This was deeply one-on-one.

The only way for her to usher complete control in this body was to eliminate every trace of the current queen. Or more exactly, the princess.

By the time Emi was through, the one called Orihime Inoue would seize to exist.

* * *

There was a disturbance in the air. It was small, something that could be ignored, but not for Yoruichi. The sudden fluctuations in Orihime's reiatsu told plenty in relation to the change in the surrounding air. Seeing as they were under the Urahara basement, where wind does not pass, the current movements of the air could be the effect of either two things: vacuums caused by bodies travelling in high speeds, and reiryoku discharge, although the latter had a much smaller scale in terms of air effect.

Yoruichi immediately took these as really bad signs. The wounds on Orihime were slowly closing up by themselves, while her reiatsu began to change. It felt chaotic, like the gathering winds surrounding them. Her aura, which had been a mild yellow color, almost invisible to the naked eye, darkened and wrapped itself around Orihime's frame. It was like she had been set ablaze with the darkest fires of Hell.

"Kisuke!" Yoruichi shouted. "It's happening."

Kisuke quickly strode to the corner of the narrow valley Yoruichi and Orihime were in, and began chanting.

"Don't tell me we're already going to use _that_."

Kisuke, too busy with chanting out the kidou spell he had planned beforehand, couldn't reply to her.

"Disperse!" Kisuke ended the chant, and the two giant rocks that make up the valley were pushed farther away from each other. The gap widened to Yoruichi's preference, as it should be now that desperate measures were being implemented.

Kisuke chanted another kidou spell. Yoruichi already knew the drill and so kept her guard on Orihime.

"This feeling," she murmured, staring at Orihime, her orange hair flying up and everywhere as the gentle winds grew stronger, "it's lot like back then, huh, Kisuke?"

He finished his chants and enacted the barrier. The corners of the now widened valley shone like vertical beacons and shot out rays of light among each other. It formed a complex web, with the two women in the middle of it, but none of these light rays were tangible. As far as Yoruichi could see, around eight rays were passing through her body, while Orihime had twelve. It didn't escape her notice that Orihime's dark aura seemed to have an effect on the rays.

"Truer than you can imagine," was Kisuke's answer to her question. "I just hope that we learned from that disaster, and that this barrier will be enough to suppress whatever will happen to her spiritual powers."

"Kisuke."

"Yes, Yoruichi-san?"

"Catch!" She tossed something to him.

Kisuke conjured a hole in the barrier for the object to acquire safe passage right into his hands. "Her hairpins . . ."

"I'd rather not fight her while having those around," Yoruichi explained, "so I removed them after she started meditating. Would the barrier keep them out?"

"Yeah." He fisted the hairpins. "The barrier suppresses any kind of spiritual energy within its walls, so I don't think that Orihime-san could call on her hairpins even if she learned how to."

"You don't think? Great, that's really reassuring, Kisuke."

"Don't let your guard down even for a second. You've made that mistake once with Aros."

"The little prick was nothing," Yoruichi retorted, eye twitching at the reminder of defeat. Aros's power took her by surprise, and she almost paid with her life if it hadn't been for Kisuke's intervention.

"Just be careful, Yoruichi-san. We don't know _what_ will come out of this."

"No," she disagreed. "We both do. And we also know what Emi _really_ is. And she's not about to stop with only partial control, is she?"

Kisuke looked away, lowering the front of his hat, as if he were ashamed to even show the expression on his face. He said nothing in return.

* * *

She looked over the railings, down at the black mist infecting the gray. She already knew that this was another of Emi's petty attempts at trying to invade her realm, but she had been expecting this kind of attack so she had installed a few defenses in case that the subsequent fight between her and Orihime were to escalate a little too far for her powers to keep Emi in her leash. Ever since she had replaced Orihime's old zanpakuto spirit, successfully copying that person's powers—essentially stealing someone's identity, but it was a necessary sacrifice because if she hadn't done so, then Orihime would've subconsciously rejected this section of her soul, and that would pave a clean path for Emi to exploit—she had been protecting Orihime's soul from the dark influences Emi often tried to force upon them. Most of these attempts were unsuccessful; she was thankful that Orihime had grown as a shy and compassionate woman, a complete far cry to what Emi was like.

She only hoped that the precautions were enough to keep Emi busy while she and Orihime finished what they started. _If_ Orihime decided to continue, that is. She might've gone into her explanations a little too harshly, but what choice did she have if she wanted the girl to completely open her eyes and hear her name?

A sigh escaped her lips. It was not in her nature to judge the actions of people through logic and intuition, despite how accurate her predictions had always been. She never divulged this kind of information to anyone at all, and she wished for it to stay that way. But still, when she had predicted Orihime's decision on this current situation . . . it wasn't putting her at ease. She honestly hoped that she was wrong. She didn't want Orihime to turn her back on everything that she had accomplished up till now just because she was too afraid.

The sound of footsteps made her look away from the blackening mist below.

There was Orihime, her zanpakuto strapped at her waist, her head down, and her hands clenched.

"Have you come to a decision, child?" she asked her, keeping her voice callous. Compassion could be shown later, and only when Orihime proved to her that she was truly worthy of it.

Orihime gave a tiny nod. Was she unsure?

"I found my answer," the girl said. She raised her face, an expression of determination in place.

A ruptured wind tore through the clearing, waving their long hair along, but they both paid no heed. The fog did not lift, but the woman noticed that it had cleared a little. It was definitely a good sign.

The girl's hands reached towards the knot holding onto the strap and her zanpakuto to her waist. She pulled the little string and the knot was undone. The sheathed sword did not reach the ground, but was hefted up to the level of her shoulders, positioned horizontally . . . as if Orihime was offering the sword to her. That didn't seem to be a good sign.

"On that day," Orihime said, "when everything turned a complete one-eighty for me, I was confused, scared, and in denial. Not only from what my parentage implied, but also from what I have become. Kurosaki-kun thought that I had cried solely because I realized that I had been adopted and never been told. What he didn't know was that I also cried because . . . I didn't feel human anymore."

"Orihime . . ." She wanted to calm her—comfort her, even—but she believed that it was better for the girl to get this off her shoulder first. She had to let it out.

"Despite my misgivings, I wanted to embrace the powers I have because they were probably the only real connection I could get from my real parents. Or at least one of them, anyway. Maybe it was just a way for me to reconnect to what I have already lost. Mom . . . Dad . . . Onii-chan . . . they've all passed on. How could I have known that my real parents have died long before any of them? I was alone. I'd always felt that way. Not anymore, though. If not for Kurosaki-kun, I may have kept thinking that way, too.

"Kurosaki-kun showed me the way. Now it's time for me to journey through it. This will be my first step." Her free hand formed a fist. "I may not know who my real parents are, but there are two things I know are true. I . . . am a human person. In heart and in mind." She touched these places for emphasis. "But," she added after a moment of silence, "I am also a shinigami. In soul and in this sword." She grabbed the hilt, unsheathed her zanpakuto, threw away the sheath, and charged forward, crying out a battle cry.

She intercepted that charge with a strong strike of her own. Though if Orihime had given the time to glance at the woman's face when their blades clashed, sparks bursting from the heat of metal rubbing against metal, she would've seen a smile expressing pride.

"Good girl," she whispered before blocking Orihime's follow-up attack.

_Marvelous progress_.

* * *

"Hmm . . . no change in her condition. A minor mutation around the face, more specifically around the eyes like those of a raccoon's—"

"Or someone who put too much black eyeliner."

Kisuke shrugged. "That, too. Keep your guard up." Though his warning seemed to have lost its desired effect after saying it over a dozen times in the past half hour.

"She hasn't done anything for a while now, Kisuke," Yoruichi replied. "I don't think there's any need for concern." She then added as an afterthought, "Yet, anyway."

"Perhaps," Kisuke conceded, "but better to be safe than sorry."

"Yeah, but reacting to every twitch or new slash wound from her body is making me jumpy. I mean, ten minutes ago, I actually twitched when I thought she was about to stand up but was only taking a deep breath."

Kisuke snorted.

"When this is over, I'm going to kill you for that."

He then gulped. Her threats were to be feared, for she always kept true to her word, joke or no joke.

* * *

The battle had been grueling for both parties, the sleeves of their clothes shredded, the tiny cuts all over their unclothed skin, and the pervasive stench of blood mixed with sweat. Orihime thought that the gash on her waist could be one of the most painful wounds she had gotten, but now, that didn't come close to what she had endured for the past half hour. There were no moments of rest, just exertion, exertion, exertion. She was fuelled with adrenaline and the survival instincts hardwired in her head. More than once did she save her neck from getting cut, averting a nasty decapitation, and her limbs from getting dismembered. The kimono woman wasn't one without her own close calls, too. Orihime took this fight up close and personal; if the kimono woman wouldn't show mercy anymore, then she shouldn't as well. She didn't give time for hesitation. Instincts prevailed and when instincts both deemed the kimono woman a threat and fleeing no longer an option, then there were only the clashes of blades until one stood and the other on the ground lying over a pool of blood.

But Orihime was already at her limit. The adrenaline rush was fading, and her hands were beginning to shake again. This time, it wasn't because of fear but of exhaustion. Her opponent was slightly winded, but overall still able to keep the fight going. And that spelled trouble for her. She knew her moves were already sluggish as they were, and the kimono woman could counter any of her future attacks with ease. This was why Orihime prompted for more evasive maneuvers. She was glad for her six-foot long sword, for it had been the edge she needed to dodge in time when the kimono woman went for a lethal counterattack. But she had to change tactics quick before the next wave of their blade-clash began.

She shifted the position of her arms, foregoing the standard kendo stance she had been using since the start of their duel, and rested the tip of her blade to the ground behind her. The sharp edge faced her opponent, two hands clasped on the foot-long hilt, legs spread out and arranged like a horseman on his saddle, the right more bent than the left. She breathed in, breathed out, in slow intervals, forcing the shakes down to a subtle level. Her opponent made no moves to attack; she was still going for the defensive front, hoping to wear Orihime down before she could get more lucky shots in.

There was something about this new stance that made her feel a sense of longing that had been satiated, like she had reunited with her brother in the afterlife. "Steel is my body and fire is my blood," she whispered unconsciously. Words of encouragement, wisdom? If so, where did it come from? She didn't know the answer, but embraced the help it provided. It steeled her nerves, gave her the confidence to follow through with what she had in mind. "I have no regrets; this is the only path."

The tip dragged a jagged line on the soil as Orihime dashed forward, the pains from her wounds temporarily forgotten as determination kept her head and her hopes high. She only had one shot at this and if the kimono woman had not parted with her sword with this last ditch effort, then Orihime would no doubt be foolishly open to any counterattack. It was all or nothing now, and she wasn't about to back down like a coward anymore.

She faced her enemy head-on, the kimono woman shifting her position to block the incoming strike from below. "HAAH!" Orihime cried, swerving her arms towards her upper left. Both swords clashed as a spectacular blast of wind pushed their hairs almost parallel to the ground, the impact of their meeting blades creating a tiny vacuum milliseconds before the air returned. Her zanpakuto hung horizontally, its hilt and her hands inches away from her right shoulder, shaking as the kimono woman exerted almost the same amount of force Orihime was exerting, but Orihime still put up the fight. Releasing as much strength as she could, putting so much strain to her muscles that they were close to tearing, she forced the sword forward, dragging the sharp edges of their blades as sparks began to fly around them. There was a momentary pause as Orihime looked into the gray eyes of her zanpakuto spirit, a person who she believed was more than just an extension of her soul, more than just a mere instrument to defeat her natural enemies, the Hollows. What she saw beyond that indifferent gaze, she didn't know, but something was there. She just couldn't form words to describe it. The moment soon passed and she continued with her assault.

She rotated her wrists while keeping the enemy blade from breaching through the lock they were in. Her sword was now positioned vertically and pointed towards the sky. Orihime hoped that her luck could pull through this. It all depended on how fast she maneuvered her zanpakuto in the right moments and in the right places.

With little difficulty, Orihime risked severing some of her fingers when she deliberately tilted her sword in such a way that the kimono woman's katana slid down towards the zanpakuto's hilt guard. It got even riskier when Orihime timed the movement of her wrist, shifting the position of the sun-shaped guard, when the katana came close to colliding with it. As a result, the blade entered one of the six gaps, nicking Orihime's right forefinger in the process. Orihime probably didn't register the cut, for she lowered her sword, pulling along the imprisoned katana, and tilted it towards the kimono woman, whose eyes widened at the trap she had set herself in.

As if it had been a choreographed fight scene, the whole event happened in less than a minute, but its effect still left a lasting impression to the kimono woman as Orihime pressed the sharp edge of her zanpakuto to the unblemished skin of the woman's neck, probably the only bare part of her body that hadn't been on the receiving end of Orihime's sword earlier on in their battle. The woman couldn't remove her blade from its prison as Orihime's left hand kept it in place at the cost of her left palm, which was bleeding.

"Excellent work, child," the kimono woman said. "You thought on your feet, coordinated your movements to execute this hold precisely, and didn't hesitate in the slightest." She smiled.

Orihime, a little unprepared of the praise but didn't mean she wasn't welcoming it, could only respond, "Thank you."

"I do hope that your resolve will not quiver after this. There will be plenty more challenges to come in the future. Maintain what you have now and everything will turn out fine."

She nodded.

"I yield."

Orihime removed the blade almost grazing her neck and stepped back. Though Orihime now sported a nasty cut on her left palm, the heat of the moment numbed the pain along with the rest of her wounds. At least for a few more minutes.

"You didn't even let your guard down," the kimono woman said. "Excellent."

Believing that it was the most appropriate response, Orihime bowed deeply, her torso parallel to the ground. "Thank you for the great fight, oba-san."

The kimono woman made _tut_ sounds, waggling her forefinger back and forth. "I have a name, Orihime. Don't tell me that even with your newfound confidence you are still deaf to hear it. It's whispering to you in the wind right now. Do you hear it?"

The fog began to lift and Orihime, with a feeling of great surprise, saw that the dead sakura trees were blooming. Freshly grown leaves on the branches were fluttering as light shown through the holes in the thinning fog. And from within that wind came an enchanting ethereal voice. Whispery at first, it gained clarity and volume as the landscape was literally resurrecting itself. She could hear it, her zanpakuto's name. And what a beautiful name it was. So fitting somehow.

"Yes," Orihime answered. "I hear—"

Whatever she wanted to say died the moment she saw the sword protruding from the chest of the kimono woman, whose eyes were as wide as Orihime's.

"_**You let your guard down, old hag."**_

Something dark appeared behind the kimono woman. Two brown eyes were staring over her right shoulder.

"E—Emi . . ." the kimono woman uttered before she was pushed aside, the sword pulled out before she hit the ground.

Before Orihime could come to the kimono woman's aid, Emi punched her in the stomach, very close to where the gash on her right waist was, and thrust her away. She let out an involuntary scream, fresh pain igniting from her waist to her head, leaving her slightly disoriented. Her butt hit the railings that separated the field from the deep cliff on the other side, where at the bottom, unknown to Orihime, contained the blackest darkness.

The last thing she saw was Emi's dark figure closing in, shoving a hand to Orihime's chest, sending both of them down into the void below.

* * *

"It's starting."

Yoruichi cracked her knuckles. "No holding back," she said.

"No holding back," Kisuke seconded.

The dark aura Orihime's body had been submerged in dissipated from its blazing entourage to a mediocre second skin-like appearance. It may have toned down in looks, but raw power seemed to have multiplied at least by three. Still, it was nothing that Yoruichi couldn't handle; she had been preparing for this confrontation even before the start of Orihime's training.

The zanpakuto, idly lying on top of Orihime's lap, was propelled upwards without outside force acting on it. The blade was unsheathed, but instead of a bright golden light shining out from inside the three-foot scabbard, shadows—or rather black light, as oxymoronic as it sounded—shone through.

Yoruichi's eyes narrowed at this, already fearing how much Emi had taken over. But she pushed that thought aside quickly and dashed off, reeling her right arm back for a devastating first attack via one of her most powerful haymakers. With an uttered cry for added strength and confidence, her reiryoku-enhanced fist made contact with Orihime's left cheek.

Yet Orihime's did not move, neither from the punch's force nor its impact.

"What the . . .?" Yoruichi pulled her fist back and saw an imprint of her four fingers and knuckles on the dark aura. "A full body barrier?"

Her honed battle instincts sensed danger moments later, prompting her to flash-step yards back when Orihime's zanpakuto landed on the possessed girl's outstretched hand and slashed diagonally. If Yoruichi had stayed on that spot, she would've sported one arm less on her body. She liked both arms attached to her body, and she preferred that it'd stay that way until it was time for her to be reincarnated.

"Yoruichi-san," Kisuke said.

"I know, I know," she retorted exasperatedly. She needed to get serious. If that aura could block her haymaker that easily, she had to let loose a bit of her restraint.

"Yell when you need backup."

She snorted. _That'd be the day_.

With her resolve unwounded and her spirit for battle beckoning for the battle's continuation, she dashed forward once more just as Orihime stood up, her eyes vacant, but no one could mistake the brownish gleam in her irises.

* * *

When Orihime opened her eyes, she saw no difference from when they were closed. She blinked. No change. Darkness loomed at each and every corner of her vision. She looked to her left, to her right, behind her, but they were all the same. Then she looked down.

"Huh?"

She had surmised that she was inside a lightless room, but the fact that she could see the white fabric of her generally black clothing as well as the skin on her hands and forearms contradicted that. There had to be some light if she could see her body, but what did make of her surroundings? Was she really inside a dark room, or had she entered a room that was painted black?

"No, that wouldn't make much sense," she murmured. She looked around frantically, searching for a source of white light in the blackness. But there was none.

"_Where_ am I?"

"Where do you think, princess?"

Orihime whirled around. Her eyes widened, staring into chocolate brown irises. "You . . . You're . . ."

Standing five feet away from her was Emi. No more shadows, no more shrouds. Orihime was meeting her alter-ego face-to-face. It was like looking into a mirror. She wore the same kind of uniform Orihime was wearing, but the collar was more opened, exhibiting a lot more of her voluptuous cleavage that made Orihime blush and check to see if hers were not the same way. Apart from their likeness in uniform, there were differences in color among the rest of her. While Orihime's hair was orange, Emi's was ivory black. Her skin was undeniably pale—paler than Orihime's actually. It could be just the void they were in and her black hair that emphasized her albino-like skin, so Orihime checked her own forearms to see if it had the same effect. Through her simple check for paler skin, she realized something else entirely: her arms were unblemished. No scars, no wounds, no blood. Even the deep gash she had gotten on her palm from grasping the kimono woman's blade was gone. Not even a faint scar was to be found.

"Healing factor," Emi said, derailing Orihime from her pondering. "Whenever I take control, the more"—she paused, hummed—"_beneficial_ traits of my nature are amplified. Including the one that saved you from getting scars on your cheeks."

Orihime touched both cheeks. They were smooth, despite being a bit sweaty. One hand lowered to her waist and felt the torn fabric but no wound.

"Pretty useful, huh, princess?"

Her hands dropped to her sides. She looked straight at Emi, unsure how to proceed. "Emi?"

Emi shook her head. "Nickname," she said.

"Eh?"

"This is probably our first face-to-face meeting, ain't it?" she said offhandedly, one finger prodding the bottom of her lip, eyes looking up, as if thinking like a child. Then she chuckled. "Oh my, where are my manners? We haven't introduced each other officially."

"Huh?" Orihime tilted her head to one side. It was a habit of hers to do so when she was beyond bewildered.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions you want to ask, princess, but we first need to make a few things clear." She stretched her arms sideways and turned lazily around. "_This_ is my realm. Well,"—she stopped spinning, her back now towards Orihime, and looked over shoulder—"more like a portion of your zanpakuto's realm, but that'd be too complicated to explain."

"What do you mean?"

"That's not the kind of question you need to ask me, princess," Emi replied. She spun a one-eighty, facing Orihime again, her arms crossed under her breasts—emphasizing more of her already revealing cleavage. "There are relevant and irrelevant questions. They go hand-in-hand, just as how good and evil complement each other."

Orihime stayed silent. She debated whether to ask her the same question again or not, and also wondered if it was a relevant one.

"One cannot call itself good if there's no evil to counteract it. The same goes for evil. They are two sides of the same coin—good the opposite of evil, evil the opposite of good—neither meeting but always there for each other.

"So the _relevant_ question you need to ask, princess, is what does that make of us? Of you and me?" Emi took two steps closer to her while gesturing to Orihime and then her herself with her hands, back and forth. "Do you even know which is the good side and which is the bad side?" She smiled lopsidedly, clearly amused at her alter-ego's bewilderment.

Orihime didn't know how to answer. While it may seemed the answer was quite obvious, something in her stopped her from saying a response, as if it knew that the question was more rhetorical than anything.

"But _that_ was an irrelevant question." She took one step backward, her arms returning to their previous positions. "So an answer is not needed. Still, think about it."

Licking her dry lips, more confused than when she first woke in this place, she asked, "Why am I here?"

Emi nodded vigorously, lopsided smile still on her lips. "A relevant question, finally. The answer: Because I wished you to be here."

Orihime waited for her to elaborate.

"While I commend your progress with the old hag and your newfound ability to unlock shikai, I deemed that it was time for you to learn a few more things that the old hag was keeping from you."

Her eyes widened. "Why—"

"—would I tell you this?" Emi interrupted, then shrugged. "I don't know myself," she said, pausing, and then snorting at the end, as if she found something funny in her statement.

"Who are you exactly?"

"I called myself Emi because I didn't really like my given name. I find that Emi was much more compatible to my personality than my real one does. That doesn't mean that the nickname I christened myself is very different from my real name, though. Simply put, the name 'Emi' is a shortened version of my real name."

"Then . . ."

Emi turned that lopsided smile to a full grin. Lifting her face up, their eyes meeting, she said, "My name is . . ."

* * *

Yoruichi dodged another slash, countered with a horizontal kick to the girl's legs, only for said girl to backflip, increasing the gap between them. Fists clenched tightly, set for more hand-to-hand combat, which had gone on for over two hours now, Yoruichi flash-stepped behind Orihime. A swift jab aimed for her right waist, the place she knew Orihime had suffered an agonizing wound. It connected. But the girl did not flinch or even registered a hit. Like her first attack, the dark aura seemed to have cushioned the blow.

But that was not possible. She had powered that punch with as much of her strength as she could, unlike her first attack. By the time of the second and third and more subsequent offensive strikes, she was fighting in full force and the aura became almost useless, like a thin book absorbing the force of a sledgehammer. Now it seemed Yoruichi had gone back to square one.

"Yoruichi-san!"

Acting on Kisuke's warning shout, she kicked Orihime's back to both get her away from the girl and at least make her stumble. The latter reason showed zero results.

Yoruichi rolled shoulders just as the possessed Orihime let out a blood-curdling roar to the pseudo-sky. "Kisuke, how much time do you think she has left?"

"Probably less than a day. Keep her busy for another eighteen hours. If Orihime-san is not back in control by then . . ."

"Yeah. Understood."

She didn't like where this situation was leading, but Ichigo was being given the same kind of option. It was either survive the training or become something no longer human. Then the latter would just lead to them being killed because Kisuke wasn't about to risk having such powerful beings as them rampaging through the world like rabid animals. Now that the fight had drawled to more than two hours, she was beginning to see the effects of the transformation behind the aura enveloping Orihime's whole body.

It may have been late to notice but Yoruichi could now see that all of Orihime's wounds were fully healed, no doubt thanks to her dark persona's special healing factor. She held the zanpakuto in her right hand. On the whole, there were no physical changes in Orihime, but that would soon change if the fight went on to reach the eighteen hour limit Kisuke had set. The transformation was a slow process and no doubt that it would start with Orihime's head. Because covering three-quarters of her beautiful face—

* * *

"_**Simply put, the name 'Emi' is a shortened version of my real name.**_

"_**My name is . . . Emihiro."**_

* * *

—was the parasitic presence of a black mask.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I had originally intended for this plot twist to occur near the end of the Soul Society arc, but it felt more compatible here in this scene than in any other. The story grew in a whole new other direction than the one I first envisioned, but at least I'm writing with my heart and not with plot. Outlines are all well and good, but I'd advise beginner writers not to rely on them. They are your guides. They are _not_ the writers. Ideas come when they come, but it is best that you keep an open mind as you flesh out the chapters of your outline because the most brilliant ideas often come unexpectedly. Sometimes at inopportune times, too.

I'm sure that someone might have suspected where I've gotten two of Orihime's lines from. And you'd be right. It's my favorite scenario out of the three in the visual novel. Remember in an earlier chapter where Orihime had to search for her zanpakuto amongst the hundreds in the graveyard of swords? Most would assume I had taken that from Ichigo's bankai training, but they were wrong. I've gotten this, too, from the same source. Can anyone guess what game/anime/manga/movie I'm referring to?


	30. Wrath of the Black Sun

Date written: 19/03/11 – 13/04/11

Posted on FanFiction: 17/04/11

A/N: Hey there, my pretty little underlings. Did you miss me? To explain my long absence, I think I should start with the origins of the chapter first.

This had been on a few rewrites since the last chapter was posted. A part of the delay was my fault, because I wrote the previous chapter's ending with a full scene in mind of what to write next, only for Real Life to come and disturb my comfort zone and haul my ass back into it. Soon after that, it was busy life, busy school, busy, busy, busy. Some were bullshit-busy, but hey, it's not like I had much of a choice in the matter. Due to that, I've been more or less inactive for the past months. And now because of my writing inactivity—without even bothering to jot down my ideas into something concrete, opting instead to letting it linger inside my head, exposed to all kinds of mental shit schoolwork had been putting me through—I lost my grasp on that idea, like an edifice swept into a thick fog and when it cleared, the edifice was gone. Despite that, I've already written some tidbits during that time, but after a while, I find them severely lackluster. They were then scrapped. If my idea had still lingered in my head, it would've thrashed these poor imitations. I needed something with more edge and daring. And it was when I was in the middle of reading Clive Barker's _The Great and Secret Show_ (an intriguing novel and wonderfully crafted and mesmerizing narrative, so read it!), a new idea came to me. So, with this in mind, I turned to the keyboard and churned this baby out, even with my snail pace because, even now, I'm still bombarded with schoolwork. Well, with how much I've written so far, here's the new chapter. And I sincerely hope that the wait was worth the effort for this.

And a final note of warning: It's summer vacation here, but I'm currently enrolled for OJT, slashing off 45 hours of vacation time per week. And I won't be done until the third week of May. In a nutshell, don't expect an update till then.

* * *

–– **CHAPTER 30 ––**

**Wrath of the Black Sun**

Orihime remembered a time when she was only fourteen years old, in her final year of middle school, when she was strolling through the shopping district of Karakura alongside her best friend in the whole wide world. They'd stop in front of a shop that peaked their interest and browse through the windows. And if the items for sale deepened their interest further, they'd enter the shop and buy something. She and Tatsuki always had this rule about shopping: when you enter a shop, it was rare for you to come out of it without a shopping bag in your hand. It was a method of caution on Orihime's part, because she often bought things like crazy, regardless if she needed the item or not. Maybe the prices mystified her or the razzle-dazzles of the clerks got to her. Whatever it was, Orihime would've gone through her month's allowance under fifteen minutes if Tatsuki hadn't been there.

She wished Tatsuki were here for this, too. She needed caution; she needed a voice of reason, a voice of calm, to aid her with this. She was treading on thin ice as it was, and with the new information Emi was about to indulge her with, she wasn't sure if she was mentally ready for it. When it came to Emi, she had to expect the unexpected.

_Emihiro._

Orihime knew how to spell her name in English, and if she got the lettering right, then Emi's real name was her own name in reverse order. Did that make sense? Was it a coincidence? No, it didn't seem so.

"Don't be so nervous, princess," Emi said, tilting her head to the right, arms crossed just under her large bust. "I don't kill my guests."

It might've been a joke on Emi's part, but it just made Orihime more nervous; the thought of being killed inside her alter-ego's realm hadn't crossed her mind yet.

"Aren't you even going to ask why I _won't_ kill you when that's all I've been doing since you awakened your powers?"

Orihime didn't say anything, but the curiosity beamed in her eyes, showing to Emi enough for her to understand without the need for words.

Emi smiled so broadly she closed her eyes midway, and kept them close when she said, "Of course you'd ask. I just never gave you the chance to think it up. I'm sure a part of you was thinking that. I wanted you to ask the relevant questions, princess. Do I have to hand you the questions along with the answers just as how the old hag gives away her powers with no bit of achievement from your end?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You tried to kill Ama—"

"Why would I kill her?" Emi paused, thought a bit, and then said, "A not so relevant question. Rather, the better question would have to be, 'How can I kill her when the dominating spirit wishes her alive?'"

"Dominating spirit?"

A finger was pointed at Orihime.

"It's always been you," Emi said, "from birth up to now. Even when I tried eating your soul hours after we were born, something or someone _always_ comes at the last minute to pull you out of my grasp. To tell you the truth, it's both annoying and saddening, like a baby bottle getting swiped from a baby before she could even take a tiny sip." Suddenly the smile was wiped from her face. "And right now that baby is very, very thirsty."

Orihime took a step back, assuming the karate fighting stance Tatsuki had taught her. "Come near me, and you'll regret it."

"I sense fear in you, yes, but there's also that gleam of determination alongside it. It makes all the difference between bravery . . . and foolishness. If you hadn't felt fear during circumstances like this, I'd have put you in the second group." She let out a girlish giggle that reverberated by some invisible walls in this void-like place, echoing its haunting, hollow melody everywhere, giving Orihime a really bad case of the creeps. "But I digress from the main point."

They retreated into silence, neither speaking, as if they were waiting for the other to continue this atypical conversation of theirs. Orihime was beginning to see that, just as her nickname might suggest, Emi was a woman who liked to smile a lot, and there could be no doubt that she broadcast most of her thoughts in unique curves and upturns of the lips. It seemed her mood did not dissuade her from smiling—the phrase "Why so serious?" raced through her thoughts, but she neither knew why or understood its relation to the topic—and while Orihime hadn't had face-to-face dealings with the raven-haired doppelganger before, she just knew, instinctually knew, what Emi's current smile had to say: "Ask a relevant question."

So she complied with the request: "Why won't you attack me?"

A few shifts in facial muscles and the smile conveyed another, different message. Orihime didn't decipher it quick enough before Emi's lips parted to answer the question. "There's a funny story in that, actually. And that's most likely a question with omitted words."

"What?"

"It's like in my previous example of relevant questions, except this concerns you rather than the hag. The most relevant question may have to be: 'Why can't I kill you at all?'"

Her figure shimmered from where Orihime stood, and suddenly appeared in front of her, one hand pulled back with four of her long fingers jutting out but neared together, as if she were about to deliver a karate chop but initiating the first half of a stabbing motion. There was little time to react and no time to dodge, and her chest was pierced by an arm. Strangely she felt no pain and neither was there blood dripping from the supposed wound.

"You see now? I didn't attack you not because I didn't _want_ to attack you, but because I grew _tired_ of trying to hurt you over and over and over and over. No matter what I do, I can't seem to make you go away permanently." The arm was removed and Emi stepped a few feet back, keeping a keen eye on her.

Orihime's attention immediately went to the entry wound—or rather, where the entry would _should_ be. All she touched was unblemished skin, but the hole made from Emi's thrust was still there, so believing it to be an illusion was out. If she had wanted to question this further, her mouth must've been betraying her because all it could release was a shaky breath.

"And it has nothing to do with my healing factor, too," Emi remarked. "So, princess, care to ask me another relevant question or is that enough for you?"

With dry lips and sweaty cheeks, Orihime looked to be straining herself mentally. Thousands of questions waited to be asked, but as there was only one mouth to articulate them, most would have to be ignored. But even then, would Emi be able to answer the few that have remained? Would she want to? Orihime didn't know, and that was fuelling most of her hesitation; she needed her first question to ask the most important out of all the possible queries she managed to think up with little time to ponder.

Emi, impatient of her silence, continued the conversation. "Before you ask that question, princess, I'd like to at least indulge you with a little secret." The smile made Orihime shiver. Emi's right arm stretched to the side, and her hand was veiled in the darkness, giving the illusion of Emi not having a right arm at all. Smile never fading nor widening, she pulled something out from that tangible darkness and the sight of it turned Orihime's blood cold.

She took a step back, now fearing for her life. There could only be one explanation for why Emi would be wielding a nodachi—a kind of bastardized version of her own sword, with the blade glinting like the darkness was to it as the light was to the shine in Orihime's blade—and she had nothing to defend herself with.

The sword's tip shifted until it reached Orihime's cheek. She didn't understand why she was afraid of this blade when Emi's earlier demonstration clearly showed that inside this mindscape, it was probably impossible for Emi to kill her. But every instinct in her system wanted her to stay away from the sharp edge leaning closer and closer to cheek, lowering itself to the line of her jaw, then to the carotid artery located at the side of her neck. Fear overcame her, and so she backed off, barely in time before the black-tinted sword did more than grazing her skin. A deeper cut would've caused a gushing of blood like pressured water from a broken pipe.

"I've been doing a bit of thinking and came to this conclusion: I can't kill you outright. You have to be _aware_ that you're dying, so I won't stop with just physical wounds, princess. I've thought of worse things to do."

Emi came to her with a horizontal swipe, intending to cut her head off, but either by survival instincts or reflexes recently honed from fighting her zanpakuto spirit earlier, Orihime ducked out of its reach in time, barely keeping her balance and not fall on her butt. She needed to grow the distance between them; Emi's black nodachi had the advantage of range. And with nothing to defend herself but her fists, caution might not be enough to prevent her from getting slashed. She understood little of what was really happening, but she surmised immediately that maybe Emi's earlier theatrics on the hand-into-abdomen was nothing more than an illusionary trick meant to put her off guard, to make her think that any wounds she would've received could be shrugged off. This made Emi much more dangerous; not only dangerous in swordsmanship but also in ways of words, like con artists mystifying their victims.

Feet slipping on the floor once, twice, thrice, but each time she remained dexterous, returning to a stable position—somewhat, anyway—and evading a follow-up attack that could've lacerated her left ankle. Her fear expanded when Emi began tailing her retreat, grinning a malefic grin. She didn't understand Emi's intentions, whether this was what she had planned from the start or not. One minute, she tried to be pacifistic, in the next, she orchestrated the whole mystery and secrets façade that Orihime fell for, hook, line, and sinker; and in the next, she reverted to her homicidal tendencies, brandishing a dark mirror image of her zanpakuto like how a child swings around a toy sword. But now that she thought more on the subject, she had to be honest with herself concerning her alter-ego: she was unpredictable. Mood swings, bipolarity, insanity, any of these could be a cause to Emi's erratic nature. To figure out which one was beside the point, because Orihime prioritized keeping her life for as long as possible while she was stuck inside this void-like prison.

She chanced a look over her shoulder, to see if Emi was still chasing after her. She was, the smile on her face seeming to have grown a few inches, stretching up towards her cheekbones, almost looking like Alice's disappearing Cheshire Cat. The sight made Orihime shudder and gave her more reason to put more speed into her dash, doing anything and everything to get as far away from the crazy woman. But her lungs were bordering hyperventilation from the exertion and her belly felt like it was being stabbed by hundreds of knives over and over, only stopping until she was either dead or numb to the pain. These just cemented to Orihime that she couldn't run from this forever.

_Cowardice._

A disembodied voice swam in her thoughts, echoing its message like a chant. This was not a voice that came from the present but from the past, not too long ago, from a time when she was facing another life-or-death battle, but unlike this one, her combatant was fighting her to help her, not kill her. And it was in that woman's words that Orihime took strength from, putting pride and fear in the back while she used the time given to her to steel her resolve.

_Utter cowardice, that is._

But for all that she had done, for all that she had accomplished, was this the result of it?

It couldn't be, Orihime refused to let things as they were. She went through so much trial—so much pain and blood and effort invested into making her into the shinigami she wished to be, with strength incapable of being looked upon as a burden to anyone—and she wasn't about to let it all go to waste without a fight. She encountered this predicament before and lived through it, so why fear Emi? Why fear the inevitable when she could die trying to evade it, in the off chance that she _might_ succeed?

The thought of fighting back boosted her confidence exponentially. But there was still the disadvantage of fist versus sword. She needed her zanpakuto to fight back.

It was then that she realized her error. She had been thinking too logically, too restraint, that she missed the most important aspect of a zanpakuto: it was a part of her. Inside this mindscape, where physics and limitations of the outside world could by all means be rendered obsolete by thought alone. This was a place of ideas, dreams, and imagination. To think of this place as a part of the real world was instinctual, since it was the world every person had lived and adapted to from the day they were brought out of their mother's wombs. Orihime had to stop thinking as if she were still outside; this was her mind, her domain, her _sanctuary_. If she didn't trust her own mind, then who _could_ she trust?

And it was from this line of thinking that she tried to reacquaint herself with her lost zanpakuto and its spirit. The last time Orihime had seen the kimono woman, Emi had fatally stabbed her before hauling Orihime into the dark corner of this mental plane. After achieving the 'revelation,' the connection between them was much more profound, and it pulsed in synchronicity to the beat of her heart, as if to underline that her zanpakuto was more than just a tool but another part of the whole body. It breathed life, it pulsed with life, and it possessed life. And whatever Orihime wished, it also wished the same.

_Show Emi who's in charge._

Orihime concentrated on their connection, willing the solid feel of her zanpakuto into her hand, although she had to do so while struggling for her body to keep up the pace of its running. The revelation was an eye-opener, no doubt about that, but with Emi still chasing after her with that carbon copy of a zanpakuto being swung around like crazy, there was no time for rest. She needed a firm grasp of her zanpakuto; willing for it didn't seem enough. She had to pull it into this void at all costs, even if Emi sensed the intrusion into her world. Orihime's pulls were turning forceful for every failed tug, this action born out of frustration, exhaustion, and desperation. All three emotions were dragging Orihime through one of the roughest ordeals she had to face inside this mindscape (far worse than her fight with the kimono woman, because this predicament came upon her unexpectedly minutes after the fight), so maybe expecting her to be covert was asking too much.

It was a slow process, but at least there was progress. Little by little, Orihime could feel the accumulating power of her zanpakuto materializing from somewhere inside her, but the container was only a quarter empty. An incomplete summon was out of the question; she didn't know what kind of effect this could do to the spirit in the long run. Such sentiments were a little extreme, seeing that she was on the run for her life and worrying more on the effects of a botched summon than her own life, which could spell the end of the kimono woman regardless. But it never came to Orihime because to understand that would require a higher percentage of mental processes, which was much more than she was willing to give when she was close—so very close—in achieving full conjuration. No scratches, no flaws. Pure steel and spirit, ready for battle.

The wait was now over, and, whether it was by instinct or just knowing what went around inside her head now, Orihime knew that Emi felt the pulse she ejected from her system as she halted her dash. She didn't slip and didn't advance anymore once she thought of fully stopping, friction becoming thrice stronger than what was normal. She faced Emi once more—all fear that had once jury-rigged her flight response was absent from her gaze—and Emi, in turn, stopped tailing and brandishing.

Inside one measly moment, two pairs of eyes—one with the color of chocolate brown, the other of ash gray—met with lightning intensity. One showed amusement. The other signaled a torrid mix of feelings that it'd be impossible to tell which one was dominant. Maybe there wasn't; it seemed to make more sense that way.

Orihime pictured the image of her zanpakuto—a beautiful nodachi with its hilt guard mirroring the design of her hairpins—and went to work in bringing the sword into being. It was formed in rapid pace, faster than a person could blink, starting from the candy bar-shaped pummel to the tip of the blade seven feet later. She had her sword back, but she wasn't finished. A sword was only a sword if there was nothing special about it. Zanpakuto _were_ special, and each of them bore a form that transcended its original shape, but to acquire this transformation, the wielder needed to shout a phrase—a code used specifically for activation—followed by the zanpakuto's name. And that phrase was . . . the zanpakuto's name was . . .

"Blind the unworthy, Amaterasu!"

* * *

Yoruichi slammed onto the barrier wall with her back and jaw aching from the impact and punch, respectively. From the start of the fight, she held back on her more lethal arsenal of Hakuda techniques and maneuvers, but she was also rusty. It had been a long time since she last did hand-to-hand combat with something other than a dummy she always went all out on. It had been decades since she really gave a thought on holding back, but it was to be expected since she and Kisuke and the others were in hiding. They had to be ready when Soul Society learned of their whereabouts.

Now while she was put into a slight disadvantage—and that's a very, very big S-L-I-G-H-T—she was willing to rise to the occasion. Besides, it was good practice for her to get back into the swing of things. It reminded her of the old days when she had been instructing the greenhorns of the Onmitsukidou in advanced Hohou and Hakuda. Of course with her extraordinary skills in these categories, it would be too easy for her to make a mishap and accidentally kill one of her subordinates. Control was not one of her strong suits, so sparring with her was limited to the ones who could go toe-to-toe with fourth-seat-level shinigami.

As for Orihime—or rather her half-possessed state—her powers and skills didn't even come close to that. The best she could offer was the chance to become a tenth seat in the Fourth Division, what with her level of control and special healing abilities. But as it stood, Yoruichi had to pull her punches to what she regarded as a playful slap, while maintaining her current level of speed. That was like wishing for a bullet to switch from lethal to sting.

That didn't mean she wouldn't step up to the challenge, though.

The black mask adorning Orihime's face was three-quarters into covering it all. Once it reached completion, then it meant Orihime had lost the inner battle and Yoruichi would be forced to deliver the fatal blow. Peering through the corner of her eyes at Kisuke, she saw him watching the battle intently, even the pause that put both combatants in silence and distance. His face was unreadable, but with her knowing the man for centuries, she knew the emotions he was trying to suppress behind that expressionless façade. Fortunately it wasn't distress or worry, but impatience. If Kisuke didn't have the need to be distressed, then Yoruichi shouldn't as well.

The fight would still go on for hours, it seemed, so she stood straight up and resumed her battle stance. She needed to find an opening in her opponent's defenses; most of her attacks had been deflected before, and the few that she was able to breach through that tank-like defense were botched by some kind of armor wrapped just on top of Orihime's skin. Compressing reishi and molding it into a second skin deserved praise, but this was a different situation where Yoruichi rather liked to curse at it instead.

Orihime attacked first, brandishing her nodachi as she released a disturbing roar. Yoruichi tensed up her legs, preparing for the dodge she would have to make, but the attack never came close to her.

Because her opponent suddenly tripped on her own foot.

Everyone was silent for seconds. Yoruichi turned to Kisuke for answers, but he looked as incredulous as she felt. Here she was, fighting a monster possessing the body of a shinigami-human hybrid, and something like this turned up. Yoruichi would've laughed at her opponent's face right then and there if the situation had not been so serious. Her experiences with black-masked Hollows could be written in books worth a thousand pages, but even when one were to read each and every volume, they wouldn't find a passage containing a comical scene. The Lückenhaft just didn't work that way. They were efficient killers and predators, more so than the weak Hollows that pop up in this world from time to time.

In a nutshell, if this were a trick to bring her guard down, then she wasn't falling for it. This kid is centuries too young to pull a fast one on me, she thought irritably.

Discontent over the change of pace, Yoruichi decided to take the bait and draw near to where Orihime lay. Aside from a big twitch of the right shoulder—prompting Yoruichi to stop and observe for a while, then continue walking—the body was unmoving. The menacing aura circulating Orihime's system felt almost nonexistent; only fragments and its lingering presence remained, like the soot marks caused by a great flame.

Yoruichi thought that maybe Orihime had finally done it, finally been able to control her shikai as well as put her alter-ego on a leash. This contemplation didn't last when she found the faults in it. For one thing, even though Orihime was lying facedown, the three-quarter mask was still covering her face. Another would be the tight grip on her zanpakuto.

Keeping her guard up, she inched even closer to the body. "Orihime," she said softly.

Her hands shifted and a groan was heard. No longer distorted and demonic-sounding, Yoruichi's hopes rose a notch. She knelt down and grabbed the girl's shoulder. Another groan was heard before she turned Orihime on her back, the menacing mask looking like it had been glued into her face. Her eyes were closed, which still put Yoruichi on edge. There was no telling if behind those eyelids would reveal brown or gray orbs.

The third groan accompanied the steady opening of those eyelids, where Yoruichi held her breath and her guard to the max. This wouldn't be the first time that she'd be faced with a surprise attack this close, and unlike that last time she would be fully prepared for it. Any kind of muscles twitching in the arms or legs, signs that could lead to an attack. She was ready.

"Yoruichi . . . -san?"

Gray-colored irises danced around the girls' dilated pupils.

"Orihime." Yoruichi couldn't help the smile forming on her lips. "Good job."

She was silent, her eyes moving from corner to corner as if it were looking for a way out of its sockets. Those eyes suddenly stopped, then shifted back to looking at her. Yoruichi could not understand the full brunt of the emotion screaming within those gray orbs, but something in her gut seemed to have translated it for her.

_Get away._

Too late.

Gray turned to brown, a smile must be forming within that black mask—

Before Yoruichi knew it, she had been stabbed deeply in the stomach.


	31. Coda Eclipse

Date written: 18/04/11 – 24/06/12

Posted on FanFiction: 24/06/12

A/N: Hey, everyone. Yes, I am aware that it has been over a year since I last updated this story, but what can I do? My muse had grabbed ahold of a new concept that she did not wish to leave, so I was swept into her pace and wrote myself to exhaustion for that Naruto idea. And when I believed I was coming to the end of my Naruto craze so I can once more concentrate my efforts on this story, little Ms. Muse suggested an enticing romance story I should write (it was also an experiment of mine because its romance will play more heavily than the snippets I've been doing here). Over half a year later, we've come to now.

Granted, the only thing I've added on this chapter since its last opening (January 5) were a few paragraphs and this Author's Note, so I guess I was just too lazy to finish it up and post it. But truthfully, it was more because the writing style and the place from where I left off were too difficult for me to pick up on, like leaving a half-eaten apple outside for two weeks and coming back to _try_ and _finish eating_ it. Exaggerated? No, that's really how it is for me.

So I give you this chapter in its tiny word count. The next chapter will play out the action dead straight with, hopefully, a satisfying end to the Inner Mind battle so that I can concentrate on the downtime and denouement portions of the Playground Training Arc.

If I get reviews again, I'm happy. If there are readers out there who stuck to me from the start of this story to my longtime hiatus, I'm glad to have you here. The writer might be the creator of worlds, but it is the reader who lives in them, as my saying goes. Happy reading, and I'll be back for an action-packed Chapter 32 soon.

* * *

–– **CHAPTER 31 ––**

**Coda/Eclipse**

Shadows were a way of life within the borders of the mindscape, an area in the human mind where few could even _think_ of utilizing for their purposes. Even shinigami have trouble in expanding their mental territory into these uncharted waters, either because of simple satisfaction over what they already garnered or of rational fear where they may find themselves within their own minds, trapped in its confines like a prison. To be the prisoner inside your own mentality seemed, to them, an ominous fate befallen to those who weren't ready to up their current power levels.

Every shinigami had the potential to open up themselves within their own minds and grasp the innate powers hidden in the darkness with training and patience. No one achieves shikai and bankai as if they were special abilities from a videogame. They don't come for free, and the most a shinigami can pay for is their life; the least will have to be time. Because that's what it is, more or less. To open one's self into their own mindscape and extricate the shadows looming there like dust and cobwebs in an unused storage room, one must have time on their hands, and with time the darkness will naturally wither and retreat until there is no space left for it to run away to. Essentially by achieving this mastery of the mental habitat, the shinigami is also opening possibilities to obtaining ascension in their powers.

When Orihime shouted out the phrase her mindscape and Amaterasu had longed to hear, Emi's base had dissolved and the shadows hissed at the bright light emanating from the magnificent blade that the orange-haired shinigami now wielded. The boundaries of the void cracked and the darkness turned away from Amaterasu's burning light, seeking refuge in another border of the mindscape, a place where the knowledge of attaining bankai hibernated inside the confines of a prison it made for itself. With their departing, Orihime erected her shikai sword in a defensive position as she studied her new surroundings.

She was back inside the graveyard of swords, the place where she had been given the test to cast away her doubts and charge forth with determination. The gray fog still lingered in the outer limits of the empty plain, but the swords that were once embedded into the ground like grave marks for the fallen were missing. But maybe that was to be, now that she found her true blade, the instrument that was more than a mere instrument, the instrument that was like an extension of her own arm. There was no reason to mourn now, to grieve at her ignorance; she found what she was looking for and so Amaterasu was content.

The blinding light of her zanpakuto faded into a dull glow, and Orihime then deemed it safe for her eyes to examine the changes the nodachi had been through. To start with, the sword was bathed in one single color, a yellowish white that casted a constant glow as if it were a holy weapon used to destroy evil. The hilt guard had been removed; the blade looked to have thinned from a width of two inches to half of that; and the blade became double-edged. Retaining its six-foot reach, there didn't seem to be anything special about the shikai form at first look. But a part of Orihime knew better, and she trusted this sword, Amaterasu, with her safety.

She spotted Emi a bit of distance away, smirking as always. It was disconcerting to see; mostly whenever the hero receives some kind of power boost, the enemy was usually found gawking and their eyes widening to the size of saucers. But all she was reading from Emi's body language was a sort of calm, as if the woman knew that even with shikai Orihime would be unable to beat her in battle. Well, she would just have to prove her wrong.

It was time for Orihime to shift to the offense.

She charged straight towards her black-haired doppelganger, Amaterasu held in both hands, readied for a vertical slash. Emi kept the smirk on her face, condescension pooling out of it, and poised it up for guarding. Midswing, Orihime altered her swing to horizontal; with the sword's light weight (probably even lighter than it was in base form), this was done with ease.

The smirk was replaced with surprise as Emi dodged the swipe by jumping up and moving away from her. Once she landed, she looked at Orihime. "Impressive. You've already realized the lightweight feel of your zanpakuto and immediately used it to your advantage." She tucked a few strands of loose raven hair behind her ear. "Observance in the midst of battle. You definitely don't fall prey to pressure anymore. Maybe it's time I stop going easy on you."

Orihime didn't say anything back. Emi could say anything she wanted, but there was nothing stopping her from ending this fight without at least one combatant lying on the floor, wounded and defeated. The idea of killing passed her thoughts a few times, but she deemed it unnecessary. This whole fight was unnecessary but it was also inevitable. Only time would tell if killing Emi could become an inevitable event as well.

Emi looked to the sky, as if pondering over something, panned back down, and slowly shook her head—left and right, left and right, stop. "I think I'll play with my food a little more."

Their stances were now reversed as Emi prowled into the offensive, brandishing her black nodachi one-handed. Her attacks were swift, efficient, and difficult to block or dodge. Orihime, however, proved to be a combatant able to go toe-to-toe as she took the defensive position as if she were a veteran at it. The reason for her deep ascension in skill, seeing that she wasn't properly trained for sword fighting in the first place, was she was moving more on instinct than on logic and emotion. Fear was in her gaze and anger was in her heart, but she didn't let these two distract her from achieving an advantage in the fight. Instincts inside her, awakened in the same ritual as releasing her shikai, yearned for the chance to take control and it was given to them without preamble. Whether or not this was because of Amaterasu's subtle intervention, as a sign of help, was unknown for the time being, but Orihime was nevertheless thankful for it.

But she didn't want to rely on defense to keep her hand steady and the flesh of her body safe from the macabre that Emi and her nodachi thirsted for. She needed to revert their stances, her on the offensive once again. But it was easier said than done. Whenever she tried to counterattack, Emi had a counter-counter, and she did it with a smile and knowing look in her eyes that was most likely saying, _You don't stand a chance_. Emi was truthful when she said she'd play around some more. Orihime couldn't think of her actions anything other than like a kitten playing with its food before eating it.

A mistimed counter made her open to attack, and Emi capitalized it by backhanding her on the left cheek. Dazed and humiliated, Orihime stepped back from Emi, who was calmly planting her nodachi on the ground, leaning her forearm on the hilt guard while her head rested on the pommel. Her other arm was on her side, the hand on her hip. Completely relaxed.

Orihime didn't believe she was capable of indignant anger. Maybe frustration and annoyance, but she had never openly showed contempt to a person before . . . well, until now.

Emi seemed the lesser winded while Orihime was already panting her breath out even as one of her hands reached for her mouth and wiped away the liquid dripping down to her chin. Blood. She could taste it in her mouth too. Emi's backhand had been strong enough to graze the inside of her cheek.

"Have you given up yet?" Emi mocked as she brushed a hand through her raven black tresses. "That would be bad. While I like the idea of you giving up eventually, I've always thought that you would've put up a better fight than _this_. Come on, princess, you've got shikai already. Use it if you wish, but at least try not to make this too boring."

Emi was right, in a way. Orihime had already gone this far, and she was certain that all she had accomplished was more than enough experience in her arsenal to handle her violent other self. But such a notion now seemed ludicrous and arrogant. Sure, she had experience, but the sheer difference between their skills revealed itself from the start of their clash. Each move blocked, each slash countered, each thrust dodged, each counter parried. If Emi was really just toying with her, Orihime didn't need to be told of the implications if the woman were to fight seriously.

But at the same time, she didn't want to just throw away the towel. Amaterasu believed in her; she could feel it resonating from her hands as the sun-colored blade shined on.

She must do what she was meant to do. The words she had spoken to Amaterasu before their final fight entered her mind once more: _I . . . am a human person. In heart and in mind. But . . . I am also a shinigami. In soul and in sword. _

It was time to act the part.

Determination renewed, steeled gaze staring at her opponent with nothing but the intent to defeat, Orihime took her kendo stance once more, both hands holding onto the hilt, one foot a step ahead of the other, muscles tensed, breath steady. Emi saw the change in her adversary and liked it. Her enjoyment looked to have upped a notch, and so did her seriousness as she grasped her nodachi with both hands now.

"That's what I like to see," Emi said, mimicking the kendo stance Orihime was using.

She didn't know why, but three words were demanding to be said. It was a little cocky and maybe cliché, yet somehow it was fitting for the occasion that she just had to say it: "I won't disappoint."

Smiling to make her name proud, Emi took the initiative, charging forward with a vertical slash aiming for her left shoulder. Orihime rotated Amaterasu to the left, blocking the attack in a basic blocking form. But she didn't count on the amount of force backed by the attack, so her block attempt was broken milliseconds after direct contact. Sparks didn't fly, but wind picked up from where the two blades met, a spherical wave of power pushing everything outward and leaving dead space in its wake. The failed block should've left Orihime open for the follow-up attack, but she at least learned her lesson and stepped away from the danger zone before Emi had a chance to slice skin.

Apparently, staying clear of her opponent's attack range was a lot trickier due to the nodachi's superior length. And while Orihime could boast the same length with Amaterasu, she didn't have the state of mind to use unorthodox methods.

Emi was of a different sort; she uses everything she sets her eyes on, be it a sword, a rock, or even the ground. The battlefield is a weapon in and of itself, and only few warriors who are not veterans of their chosen field pull an advantage with it. But what she employed into the fight was a definite low blow. A short flick of her wrist, swinging the nodachi's tip to the ground and then back up in quick motion, produced a cloud of dust that stormed into Orihime's eyes.

Blind from the cheap shot, she struggled to keep her defense up despite the lack of vision. Tears were pooling out of the corners of her eyes while she resisted the urge to wipe her face of the sand and soil sticking to sweat and facial oil. Emi might have or have not moved to strike her down, but in either case, Orihime trusted survival instinct more than logic, and what instinct told her was step farther back.

There was a sounding whip in the air, like a tennis racket swung in top speed, as she retreated and finally allowed one arm to leave the grip on Amaterasu to restore her obstructed vision. With her sight back, if a little blurry, she saw no trace of Emi. That whipping sound was a close call when her eyes traced the clean swipe on the front of her robe, a cut that revealed her cleavage prominently. Blushing like a tomato, Orihime thanked God that no one else was inside her mindscape to see this embarrassing sight.

_No! Keep your head in the fight!_

She would have to berate herself later for that slipup. An enemy doesn't wait for one's convenience, and she had kept herself open for over five seconds checking the superficial damage Emi had caused. Orihime really needed to set her priorities, when in battle, straight: survival comes first before anything else.

She whirled around, looking to the sky above her, the ground below her, and the field beyond her. Emi had disappeared entirely. But Orihime could still feel the aura of her presence, a constant buzzing in her senses that seemed to be informing her that danger was right around the corner. But if Emi was here, where was she? Orihime recalled the event a minute ago, trying to remember if she heard footsteps, other than her own, approaching or receding from the focused area of the battle, but she heard nothing. That couldn't possibly mean Emi had disappeared while standing still, yet it seemed the most plausible. That, or she just hadn't heard Emi's footsteps as she went into hiding. But again, where did she go?

_I'm thinking in terms of reality again_, she thought, hands tightening the grip on her zanpakuto as she turned around once more and moved a few paces to another spot. It was best to stay on the move if Emi decided to procure a surprise attack.

_It's just like my will to summon Amaterasu into Emi's realm. If I can do that, then who's to say Emi can't do the same? She _is_ my alter-ego. But what surprise does she have in store? Why leave?_

Unexpectedly, she found her answer in the form of a vision.

* * *

Yoruichi remembered when she and Kisuke almost lost their lives because of their recklessness. The experience might have made her question her own mortality, have gotten her in trouble with her clan after she came back home bruised and dirtied, and have set her impression on Kisuke dead-straight, but at the same time, she was thankful for it because it opened doors she thought she'd never open. And mostly she had to thank Kisuke for sticking with her through thick and thin after all that.

They came from different worlds—she a noble, he a commoner—but in the Shinigami Academy, origins held little sway. Maybe for cliques and a good first impression on the judgmental instructors populating the staff, but once the essentials were boiled down to skill, ingenuity, tenacity, and plain luck, everyone was more or less left on their own. She and Kisuke were classmates in their first year, but they didn't really start out as friends. Kisuke usually kept to himself, avoiding a few group study sessions to concentrate on something nagging his mind, specifically tinkering and inventing. Just at the start of the term, he was already garnered as a man of unparalleled intellect, reaching top scores on all theoretical subjects while still having time for the strange experiment he went about doing without precautions or abandon. It wasn't until she chose him to be his little play toy for the week that she stopped thinking of him as an airheaded, eccentric, easy-going genius. Change airheaded to absent-minded and that was pretty much her revised opinion on Kisuke Urahara.

Once every week, to alleviate some of the boredom induced by the sheer monotony of Academy life, Yoruichi would pick someone in the student body, regardless of year and status, to be her personal little play toy. And to ensure that she wouldn't grow bored too soon, she changed students weekly; well, that, and she didn't want to look too much like a bully if she could help it. She was a natural tease, anyone close to her would even admit that (out of her earshot, of course), but teasing strangers carried its own stigmas to her reputation. While she didn't really mind much what others thought of her, she was still the heir of the Shihouin clan and any negative reputation she might've garnered would carry onto her family. She was proud of herself and able to confront her mistakes, but she crossed the line when those mistakes damaged others.

That was why she stuck up to Kisuke when almost everybody was pointing their accusatory fingers at him for the cause of his and her close encounter with oblivion. It was as much as her fault as his, and they'd be damned if they said otherwise. It seemed innocent enough because the best way, she assumed, to tease the carefree blond was to interrupt his "Me Time." In other words, sabotage his inventions while he was working on it. Unfortunately she underestimated the severity of his claims.

His invention skyrocketed into a cacophony of grinding metal and internal explosions, and by the time they reached the safety of the outside of his workshop—any second sooner, they might've ended up hospitalized or, worse, dead—the whole place was engulfed in flames. The explosion leveled three classrooms in its blast radius, but thankfully each one was empty since it was a rest day. Kisuke was reprimanded for experimenting with volatile chemicals within the school premises. At least he got off easy; such an incident was a recipe for expulsion. Because of her intervention on his behalf, his incalculable intellect, and the lack of injuries or casualties from the student body, his sentence was lightened to a two-week suspension and seven months of community service, to which another two months had been added when they heard he was slacking off his duties to build another of his crazy inventions.

From that moment on, she didn't tease him. She had felt bad because not only was she free of any punishment, his workshop, and all the devices he had created since he was given permission to use that abandoned science lab, was destroyed. He was also no longer allowed to make another workshop, a restriction he might've taken badly more than he was willing to show to the public. Rumors spread fast, and he was ostracized in a matter of days—nobody wanted to come close to a man who could make a bomb from rotten meat, a box of rusted needles, and a book of matches, as the rumor mill told it.

It sickened her, and so she made time to try and rectify her blunder. At first, she did it out of pity, but after days of constant companionship, pity no longer mattered. She somehow found a friend in the blond, and by the time they were able to repair his damaged reputation together, they were inseparable. She had his back and he had hers. Their bond was so close and sturdy that Yoruichi used her influence as Shihouin heir to have him live and grow up with her in the Shihouin Mansion in Seireitei, her reason being that she wanted to keep an eye on him. It turned more than a few heads her way, but she didn't care, and the rest of her clan had similar opinions, though they vary between the two of them being 'partners-for-life' and 'future husband-and-wife.'

This bond they had never dwindled or weakened during their service in the Gotei 13 or when they defected from Soul Society and resided in the living world for a whole century.

She had his back and he had hers. This never changed. Not then, not now.

So when she was stabbed in the stomach by the black-masked abomination possessing Orihime, it didn't sink deep enough to pierce any vital organs because Kisuke had been there to her rescue, pulling her away from further harm. It hurt a little—her pride, not the wound—but she wasn't about to complain her good fortune. This situation now required both of their presences. Orihime's reiatsu had doubled after rising from that feint faint.

"Time to raise the stakes," Kisuke muttered, removing Benihime from its casing. "Just like old times?"

She grunted, which he automatically took as a yes.

Begrudging as it was to be saved by her old time friend, she stood up with steady feet and assumed a battle stance. The stakes were now higher and the risks more dangerous, but where would the fun be without something to spice up the battle?

Though she wanted to keep looking serious, one glance at Kisuke's carefree attitude, and the lopsided smile she just knew he was sending her way, had been enough to dissuade her from that kind of action. And almost without her notice, they returned to what they used to do as a team, covering each other's back.

"Yeah," she said in agreement to his question, "just like old times."

A trail of dust and they were gone. But the sound of metallic and seismic clashes told a different story. The battle for Orihime's life on the outside front had reached its climactic turning point.


	32. emihirO ma I

Date written: 25/06/12 – 23/08/12

Posted on FanFiction: 24/08/12

A/N: You know, the earlier draft of this chapter—dating back to last year, around the time I had been released from my prison-like OJT—consisted of more daring events and suspense like Ichigo's soul reacting to Orihime's reiatsu as the barrier shielding her presence from the rest of the pocket dimension was shattered, or the one where Orihime recalled another vision of her parents, or the one where Urahara had to tend to Yoruichi as the stab she received from Emi-possessed Orihime was laced with a poison made from Emi's undiluted, malicious reiryoku. In the end, these ideas were removed from the final product, not because I didn't see potential in their being fleshed out, but because they were on the _very complex_ side and the last time I did that to a certain Naruto story, I experienced writer's block with a side of procrastination. I had to think of future chapters and their connection with the previous, and trying to keep hold of all those events without straying from the direction I was heading to—sometimes they stray very far that I had to revise certain future events. It was better to keep things simple, then, and keep the writing flow from there.

This was another reason why I left the previous chapter short and as un-action-esque as the chapter before it. My old writing style trying to clash with my current one had also factored into it, but mostly it's because of the alien feel of the chapter's direction. I wanted to start anew and set everything straight. No more lollygagging and prolonged monologues that lead to possibly nowhere. Write the fight, the end, the call of the curtains as this act comes to a close.

* * *

–– **CHAPTER 32 ––**

**emihirO mA I**

Short of breath and feeling like she had gone through a harsh karate lesson from Tatsuki eighty times over, the first sense of consciousness her mind had registered was touch, which accentuated the fact that her body felt weak and past its stress limit, followed by sight, which one half processed darkness and the other a blurry image of a flat, barren plain turned on its side.

_I . . . can't move._

Though she regained the feeling in her body, it was probably better that it hadn't because the pain made her wish sleep came back to her. It hurt to move, too.

She groaned.

The best her nerves could endure without resorting to an encore of searing pain coursing through her battered body was twitches on her fingers and the slow movements of her lips, which were dry and chapped. Sometimes it was hard to breathe and her mind still tried to comprehend how exactly she ended up like this.

The last thing she remembered was fighting Emi inside her mindscape, a battle she knew she was slowly losing as Emi began to take a foothold in the momentum of their fight, putting the advantage to her, swiping away whatever turnaround she could put up at the spurn of the moment. When Emi disappeared after her cheap shot, everything went hazy from there, washed away from her memory bank like ink being doused in water.

_I need to get up._

Her determination might still be burning strong, but it helped little with motor movements. Every forced command on her nerves was like a myriad of daggers stabbing into her body, violently suggesting to her mind to stay still and rot away. It would've been merciful if she could just lie here without feeling a thing, no longer caring about honor and life and promises, thought centering only at the light at the end of the tunnel where pain was non-existent. Yes, it would've been merciful, indeed, but only if Orihime were a lesser woman.

She had gone through her fair share of personal tragedies, of pain insurmountable ever since she seriously took up the way of the sword, of hardships she could say made her more world-weary but also more independent. This paralysis and this hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves were just two things she could add in the ever-growing list that recorded her life. They wouldn't kill her, so they would no doubt make her stronger. She wasn't backing down, not now, not ever.

But still, the bond between desire and action was weak, yet with sheer determination she rotated her neck so she could let her head lie on its side and the most her throat could produce was a dry groan. It was difficult looking at the wasteland—the Playground, she remembered Urahara-san calling it—from the corner of her one good eye. With her turned head, it was more discernable and less straining for her eye, although she didn't think she'd find any salvation from staring at a vast endless wasteland all day.

The Playground . . . under the candy shop . . .

She needed another second to connect the obvious.

_Urahara-san! Yoruichi-san!_

Surely they'd be here. They'd come to her unmoving body, to help her out of this situation, and these thoughts were able to calm some of the anxiety that ran rampant in her system.

And there was Yoruichi, inching closer to where she lay, but the brown-skinned woman's steps were slow and cautious, as if she were assessing whether or not Orihime's prone form was still a threat. That sounded quite ludicrous even to Orihime, yet there had to be a reason for the catwoman's hesitance.

She tried to voice out these questions, but her throat was too dry to emit audible sound. The best sound it could do was the cough of a mute. She wanted water. Bad. Still, she tried again when Yoruichi was close enough to hear her.

"Yoruichi . . . –san?"

A smile formed on the older woman's lips. "Orihime," she said. Affectionate, heartwarming, gentle. "Good job."

She wanted to smile back, but Yoruichi wouldn't see. Not with the awkward position her head was in, as well as the thing obstructing most of her face. It was hard to tell what exactly this thing attached to her face was, but she could see it was firmly stuck to her skin as if it were cemented with super glue. Still, she had to give a reply to her teacher, try to convey that she was in sheer pain and couldn't move without the use of her mouth. With her pathetic state, maybe it wouldn't be that hard to—

D**a**r_kn_e**S**S in her **s**o_u__**l**_.

Hungry.

Rising.

Writhing.

No. No. No. No, no, no, no, no no no no nononononononononononono—

_Yoruichi-san, get away!_

Too late.

Before she knew it, her body moved without her will and the sword she cherished and trusted turned into an instrument of betrayal as it lunged towards Yoruichi's stomach.

* * *

She woke up lying somewhere, gasping for breath, coughing out spit, and then ending the episode with bland-colored vomit gushing out from her mouth. She didn't think about what and when was the last time she ate. The pale orange color of a syrupy substance was all that had come forth from her stomach and sparked no recognition from her. But thinking about the unfinished work of her stomach acids was the least on her mind.

If anything, her mind was reeling back to what occurred in the outside world before she realized she had returned to the barren field of what was once had been a graveyard of swords. She had lost all control of her body and _something_ had moved it for her. Something with murderous intent as Amaterasu turned into Yoruichi's cause of death. The surprised look on her face as she reacted too late to dodge the incoming blow, the slight feel of resistance when the tip of her blade pierced Yoruichi's abdomen . . .

She shook her head incessantly and spat out a mouthful of spit and residual vomit. The taste was as bland as the vomit's color, Orihime noted, to which she was thankful. The thought of having bad breath along with a dirty aftertaste did not sit well for her, though for the life of her, she couldn't understand why she'd have to worry about superficial stuff at a time like this.

_Would it be better if it were your blood, then?_

She grimaced, rolled on her side, stood up, and walked away from the puddle of puke. She didn't dare herself to look back; it might trigger an encore of retching. There was one thing she needed to do and if she took a moment to rest, to think it over, hesitation would begin to settle in, and that must not happen at all cost. Her hands were empty, but a quick thought of Amaterasu's presence was enough to materialize the zanpakutou into the mindscape and in her hand again.

"Emi!" she shouted, gripping Amaterasu with both hands, the tip of the sword resting on the dirt. "I know you can hear me." She looked to her left, right, behind, in front, and above. She was alone yet not so alone; she could feel her enemy's stare coming from somewhere remote, like a surveillance camera watching her every move. "Come out."

Silence greeted her, but inside that silence she could already tell there was laughter.

Orihime steeled herself, from the compassion in her mind to the soft tone of her voice dropping to accentuate her method of intimidation with the words, "I won't ask again. Come out. Now."

Emi had taken that as a challenge as she appeared fifty yards to Orihime's left in a flash of utter darkness. It was not a form of theatrics—if it was, she would've appeared in front of Orihime—but a form of travel between their domains. This place was neutral grounds. They were not in the forest park filled with sakura petals dancing to a steady flow of wind; it was Amaterasu's homeground and beyond the orange sky from which this world was basked in. They were also not in the world of darkness, Emi's personal little home inside Orihime's head.

Orihime doubted she'd be able to rid of Emi completely; the raven-haired doppelganger was as much of a part of her as Amaterasu, an extension of her very soul. This did not mean she had to like it. Tolerate, maybe. And right now, she had to show just who was boss and that the game was over. No more interruptions. No more turning back.

It was now or never. A battle for who holds the throne that governs their identity.

Before anymore innocents get caught in the crossfire. For a fleeting moment, an image of Ichigo came into her thoughts and she pushed it back. She steeled herself for what she was about to do.

Emi was smiling as she sauntered closer to Orihime. There was no trace of worry or nervousness in her face, but it was hard to tell when the only expression Orihime had seen of her was that smile and its many variations. Maybe that was how she dealt with other emotions, smile when feeling sad, smile when feeling angry, smile when feeling bloodlust, the utter need to cut things up and see the blood gush like a broken pipe.

It would remain a mystery to Orihime.

Both women readied their weapons, their eyes clear of distractions, of unneeded thoughts. The first attack was an essential starter in getting the upper hand over your foe, as long as the attack connected. If it were countered, then the advantage was lost and the attacker would have to nurse a wound as the battle raged on whether or not she wanted a moment of respite.

The grip on Orihime's sword tightened as she assessed her battle plan. In this barren wasteland, there were no obstructions, no loose rocks or holes, and no hiding places. Plenty of running ground if she wanted to distance herself, but the same could be said for Emi. Should she take this slow, go on the defense while finding a proper opening for her to exploit? Should she take this lightning quick, hoping for the first attack to succeed and follow it up with a barrage of lethal blows which would end this fight?

Was there even a third option?

While both had good merits, Orihime's instinct—the one that kept her alive whenever there was a fight—was responding negatively. It seemed to say that these two options were inadequate for the current foe, because she was her and the other way around. Emi would no doubt have expected whatever Orihime came with, so . . . so what now?

_Come on, think. Think!_

She didn't have time to do so; Emi opted to take the initiative and deliver the first attack of the fight, a slow swipe towards Orihime's shoulder. A part of her already thought of the move suspicious. It was too slow, too constrained, but the rest of Orihime believed it to be Emi's unorthodox sword-style, her unpredictability quasi-personified.

She never saw the feint for what it was.

The swing was blocked, a distinct clash of metal that reverberated to the ends of the wasteland. Orihime believed she'd be all right as long as she anticipated Emi's next move, but fortune did not smile on her right now.

Emi, always thinking on the fly, although this feat seemed more predated and thought out than spontaneity, made use of the block to her attack. In Newton's Third Law of Motion, it states that with every action there is an equal, opposite reaction. The force and velocity exerted between the two warriors were beyond the level of humans, and though this was the mindscape, a place where reality itself could be bent to the whims of the dreamer, it still acted on a general understanding of the outside world, at least as much as what Orihime had learned for all her life. The block pushed Emi's sword back, but instead of resisting the remnants of the opposite force, she used it as a starting momentum to spin and swing at Orihime's other, unguarded side.

Orihime never saw it coming. But her instinct did.

She, like Emi, did not resist the momentum as it pushed her back. Something in her told her to roll backwards, to go with the flow of the push, and not once had she questioned these urges. It would be more accurate to say that she didn't have time to think of every little thing over, for one moment wasted on needless thoughts was a moment she could've used to keep herself alive.

As the adrenaline rushed in her system, her heart beating like the continuous burst of a machinegun, time began to march in an almost frame-by-frame motion. It was not as if she had experienced episodes like this before; the survival instincts of her body going on overdrive as it accelerated everything about her, including her mind, to give time to counteract whatever it was that was endangering her. It only came when it wanted, and once it did, Orihime took every opportunity to exploit it.

Here was Emi on her second swing, the dark glint of her shadowed nodachi made her think of how bloodstains would not be seen on its blade. And here was Orihime mimicking Neo, saved from severe laceration as the course of her enemy's weapon plowed through where her torso had been, only the slight tear of the fabric against her breasts the evidence of her brush with a lethal attack. The motions hastened, like a snail trying to run, and Orihime continued with the momentum of her backward roll. The dragged out sound of Emi's blade echoed in her ears as it sliced through the sound barrier. There was even an uncomfortable piece of rock prodding against her right shoulder blade. Minute sensations felt with enhanced senses, ones that would stay until the end of this bullet time event.

And so, time picked up speed, with Emi slicing air and Orihime out of harm's way, finishing her roll with little flourish and readying Amaterasu to a neutral stance that could be either offensive or defensive.

Emi's smile looked crooked for a second and she smoothed it out. Their determined eyes locked on each other and then to a few fluttering strands of orange hair between them, dropping to the floor soundless and calm yet its message brought something more malicious.

No one said it, but they took that as a successful, if mainly superficial, first attack.

They closed the gap between them again, neither going for defense; no time for it. Charge forward. Never look back. Each blow thrown was received and deflected, yet as the battle continued, the more readable the signs of wear and exhaustion were on Orihime's face. It did not matter if she had a higher chance of winning this duel than Emi; for all her advantages and plain instinctual swordplay, she had been through a rough fight with Amaterasu. The wound on her palm, which she had gotten from grasping Amaterasu's sword to play out the finale, had healed but the mental tire remained. It stalled her, dulled her, slowed her down.

And in a moment of slipping awareness, Emi dashed in and kicked her knee.

Pain sprung from the spot like an exploding firework, blinding and bright. Orihime lost grip of her concentration as she knelt, without realizing, to grab ahold of her knee. Her mouth articulated only a fraction of the scream; Emi did not let up with her attack, swiping her free hand onto Orihime's throat.

There was weightlessness as well as pain. Seconds which felt like minutes, maybe hours, the sense of zero gravity doing wonders with her confusion. At some point, she had lost her sword but it did not occur to her how defenseless she'd be without it. Her mind was preoccupied with processing the shock of events coming in too fast for it to take a foothold.

Yet when gravity returned, she had wished that the pain would lessen, if not disappear altogether. Newer pain—strong, acute, discombobulating—shot out to her head, like a boxer delivering a swift haymaker directly to her face. She was bleeding—it felt like it, anyway—and was having trouble figuring out where was up and where was down. It took a few more seconds for her to fully comprehend that her face had been bashed onto the ground.

"You disappoint me, princess."

Orihime palmed the ground and lifted her torso, but her elbows buckled and she again slammed, forehead-first, to the uneven ground where debris from the crater the first impact left behind had scattered and done wonders in making her sharply 'comfortable.'

_Where . . . did I go wrong?_

No answer was forthcoming, no revelations or disembodied voices to give her a pep talk so she could rise up from despair and take on whoever. In the end, she was on her own, her lifelines for help had all been wasted because of her weakness.

Footsteps somewhere, echoing closer. This was undoubtedly the end. No one to save her, nothing to give her a boost of confidence. She was weak, wracked with pain, and unmoving, like a trapped animal that had expended all of its energy to try and escape. And as Emi's footsteps grew louder and more profound—there was also a whipping sound from the wind, like the swipe from a tennis racket, followed by suppressed giggles that Orihime knew was filled with overflowing glee—she thought of her last seconds in this existence. Was she okay with how things went in her life? Was she satisfied to have things end this way? Was she willing to just lie here and die when there were still many things she wanted to do in her life?

Will she let things go like this before she even had the chance to redeem herself for what she had done to Rukia?

_Kurosaki-kun,_ she thought, _what should I do? Tell me . . . Kurosaki-kun._

"Well," Emi said, skidding her sandals next to Orihime, her voice nonchalant and happy at the same time, "this is not how I really envisioned our fight to end . . . but hey!" A sound of rustling clothes and the muffled clings and clangs of shifting metal—even in the darkness born from eyes she couldn't open even when she wanted them to, she only needed these simple sounds to realize Emi had shrugged. "I tend to imagine very elaborate things. Just like you, right?"

They were giggles no more. Emi was milking the glee for all its worth, breaking Orihime's slowly as her continued laughter blasted in her ears, a painful reminder of how much she had failed everyone—Rukia, Urahara-san, Yoruichi-san, Tatsuki, even Sado and Ishida. But most of all, she felt ashamed about letting Ichigo down.

_I guess . . . you'll have to rescue Kuchiki-san on your own, Kurosaki-kun._ Her hands clenched into fists. She fought the urge to cry; to show more weakness to Emi would just prove more of her superiority. At least she wanted to leave this world with some of her dignity left intact.

Her time was numbered by the seconds, she knew that well, and she couldn't think of anything better to spend it than thinking of the memories she had made with Ichigo no matter how small, no matter how limited. When they first met when her brother, Sora, was admitted into the Kurosaki clinic, even though Ichigo had probably forgotten and she almost had, too. When they became classmates in high school, never really conversing with each other but that was more of her shyness and troubles of even uttering more than five words to him. When she participated in his shinigami duties, willing to share the workload as long as Ichigo didn't treat her like fragile glass.

She saw the many expressions of Ichigo Kurosaki within those months, faces when he was sad, happy, angry, bewildered, and many more. Before her whole world turned upside down, she never would've dreamed of getting to know Ichigo this much. She still wanted to learn more about him. She wanted to talk more openly with him, work alongside him, enjoy a life with him there by her side, even if such a thought was but a mere pipe dream. She wanted more.

_Kurosaki-kun . . ._

She wanted to live.

Vibrations came to her skin. Their origin was from the ground itself, subtle, quick, and soft. The first wave didn't register to Orihime—or maybe they did, but she thought nothing of it, probably an aftershock from the full body smackdown Emi gave her. After the second and third wave, she realized that these tremors were too strong to be done by Emi stomping, which was her first theory, and she drew a blank for any other explanation other than it being a normal earthquake. But why would an earthquake occur inside her mindscape?

Cold steel touched her neck.

"Are you ready, princess?"

_No . . ._

The cold feeling stopped, but Orihime instinctually knew that in a few more seconds, Emi would be using her last attack on her. There were no escape routes, no retaliations, no counterattacks. Helpless against an impending fatal strike was what Orihime was now.

_No . . . I don't want to die . . ._

Something in the air distorted, and the ear-catching sound of something akin to a whipping registered in her head. And within the last moment, Orihime shouted out her desire, her intent, her will to live.

_I DON'T WANT TO DIE!_

And in answer, the world willed it so.

* * *

The mindscape is more than a home for a shinigami's zanpakuto spirit. If you were to question different shinigami, you'd hear different responses to the same question: What does your mindscape look like?

There are no two zanpakuto having the same properties. There are cases of some sharing the same element, but either how it was used or how the sword looked made the difference. And just as zanpakuto are as unique as people's fingerprints, the place in which their spirits reside, the mindscape, should also reflect that. The mindscape itself is an extension of a zanpakuto, thus making it, too, an extension of the zanpakuto's wielder.

Each mindscape was forged through individuality. A shinigami's thoughts, experiences, beliefs, personality, they all played their part in forming that inner world. The structures, the sky, the ground . . . all were made from what made the shinigami who she was. In short, it is the projection of a shinigami's own mind.

When Orihime commanded to live, albeit unconsciously, the mindscape resonated. A bright light shined from where she lay and a powerful unrelenting force pushed Emi away as her black sword came inches from severing Orihime's head. This light encompassed the whole field, like an atomic bomb detonating and taking no prisoners. Even after being pushed away and then regaining her bearings, Emi felt the intense heat coming from the approaching light. Hotter than fire, faster than lightning, brighter than anything she had come across. Its presence instilled a feeling in her she never thought she'd feel. This feeling made her shake, made her hesitate, made her take a step back. They were instinctual responses, and since she was completely assimilated to these instincts, she didn't realize her symptoms until her heel stepped on a sharp rock while backtracking.

She stopped, looked down at the stone that broke her from her unconscious retreat, and snarled. Not completely undignifying since she managed to reel it back and somehow morph it into teeth-gritting. But all she managed was to save face. On the inside, there was a looming beast breaking out of its cage. The fight had been in her favor right from the start, yet she had been pushed back like some harmless fly, unthreatening, merely there to annoy the princess. It was infuriating to even think about and she was willing to rectify this embarrassment at all costs. The princess might've taken her by surprise, but she still had the upper hand. A month of swordplay—even with the aid of that old hag—paled in comparison to what power she was holding back.

Emi switched her stance, this time using both hands to grab onto the hilt, and dove inside the fading light. She thought it would be a simple hit and run: get close to the target, slash her up, and then grow some distance.

She thought wrong.

Blindness was her undoing. The light might've been enough to blind her temporarily, but she was prepared for that. What really undid her was dust. A whole cloud of it flooded the air and her face. Her eyes prickled, her nose itched, and above all her resolve wavered but that was enough for a counter.

Within the thick layer of dust, Orihime lunged, spearing her nodachi into Emi's shoulder. She had been aiming for her heart, but even she was not fully protected from the dust particles, despite using it to her advantage earlier.

Orihime heard her opponent grunt before pushing her away. In one swift movement, reminiscent of shounen action manga, Emi dissipated the dust cloud through some unfathomable air manipulation. Whatever the technique was, it destroyed Orihime's hiding place. But not her advantage.

Emi's rapid regeneration began mending the damage on her shoulder, but that was all right. Orihime didn't expect to do anything permanent, not now and especially not here. Something about this place she did not want to taint with death. An odd thought, considering her past experience with this barren land that was crowded with a graveyard of swords spanning for as far as her eyes can see, like an endless plain for all the fallen and dead, either known or unknown to history. But was that all there was to it, a mere graveyard with no rhyme or reason for its existence inside her head?

_No. Something doesn't seem right. Something is . . . missing._

But much as she wished to try to understand the meaning behind the swords, there was no actual need for it. Almost like a theological revelation, the answers she sought came from some otherworldly power. It could've been Amaterasu, it could've been this wasteland responding once again to her will, she was still unsure. What was clear, however, was the purpose of this part of the mindscape.

It was not neutral ground as she, or Emi, had wanted to believe. Amaterasu resided in a forest of blooming sakura trees, pink petals flowing and falling along an ever-present breeze. Emi, almost contrasting to her shining yet malevolent smile, resided in pure darkness. It should've been obvious that this was _her_ personal residence of the mindscape, but at the same time it wasn't.

She might possess the power to bend a few universal rules here, but it was limited to her intent and emotions. She might tip the scale more to her favor in this fight, but it probably wouldn't be enough. Miracles do not come in groups.

_Disconnection. Isolation. It is not really mine._

The truth still stood before her, like a neon sign flashing brightly right in her face: She had had no need for a mindscape until now. For the past 15 years living life as a normal human—a spiritually aware human, to be sure, but still human—mindscapes had been nothing more than figments of the imagination, if maybe not an exaggeration born from manga culture. As imaginative as Orihime was, her mind at the time was still bounded by human limitation, thus why she never had the chance to realize and nurture her inner world. Untended and unneeded, it served no purpose, waiting for the day that it would be called upon.

Because this world was her corner of the vast mindscape, Orihime was god. Her will was absolute, if only she had a proper grasp of her influence, which she did not, and that hindered her from success. Miracles, after all, do not come in groups.

Readying her sword, wounds on her person healing much more rapidly than her enemy, Orihime set her eyes on the target, steeled and determined. "Please dodge this."

Emi only had a second to react at both her words and the screams of her danger instincts. Rolling to the left, willing everything in her body to move faster than her fastest, she managed to escape a vertical slash that decimated 500 yards of barren earth, leaving behind a deep crevice that widened gradually from the starting point. If Emi had been a yard or two farther from the shinigami, she might not have been so lucky with her evasion. She got out of the thick of it, if barely. The wound on her shoulder, still healing, was forced open due to her quick movement. Offense was currently impossible with her disabled dominant arm. Orihime was radiating power unlike anything she had sensed from her before; her instincts were even telling her to exercise caution.

Dust flew in the air, but fortunately there was no light this time. Whatever that attack was, it was the same kind of air distortion Emi had used to dismiss the dust cloud earlier. She did so again for the current one and entered a stance once she caught sight of Orihime.

The sharp edge of her blade facing the abused ground, unmoving from when she finished her slash to the current time, Orihime's eyes were serene, as if she had found a transcendent, unbreakable peace within herself. Emi didn't like those eyes one bit. They weren't fearful, weren't hesitant, weren't human. As if the princess was above feeling any emotion, as if breathing and fighting for one singular purpose.

The thought alone tightened her grip on her zanpakuto.

Orihime stood straight, Amaterasu resting on her side. She assumed no stance and stayed like that. Her guard might be abysmal and her chance of initiating an attack before Emi notices was improbable, but her eyes glowed with fierce determination.

"What are you planning?" Emi asked, but it came as a whisper.

Not knowing that Orihime still picked up her question. "To win," she replied simply, as if it was expected of her. "I'm sorry."

Emi took those last two words as an omen and trusted her instincts to pull her away from harm. Danger would come from her right—the movements of the orange-head supported this—and she maneuvered her body in both speed and delicacy. Her reopened wound was sore and halfway from done, and while such a wound was inconsequential given the fact she couldn't actually die in this place, she was already at a disadvantage from having one arm disabled. Neither was pulling her punches anymore, and there was a large likelihood that she'd fall in this battle. That must not happen. Her freedom was on the line here.

She braced her legs for a swift jump. A moment of weightlessness, her senses almost as hyper as Orihime's as the surge of slow motion brought unfortunate clarity to her situation. She trusted her instincts and went with what it advised, but such advice was useless when speed was not enough.

Emi managed to dodge the projectile slash attack, that was true. However, she did not react fast enough to how the slash changed directions and honed in on her new location. Like leading a mouse to cheese, the slash found what it was looking eight feet to the right from where Orihime had launched the sharp distortion of air pressure which wasn't air pressure at all.

"What the hell was that?" Emi now bore a second wound of shame, a diagonal gash coursing through chest area that went deep enough for her to worry about her breasts having to dangle on mere skin until her healing factor repaired the damages. "I dodged your attack. I know I did."

"You did dodge," Orihime informed, retracing her movements to her initial relaxed standing position. She walked slowly to the woman nursing her wound. "And if it were an ordinary wind slash, it would've swept passed you and imprinted the ground with another crevice."

"Then how . . . how?!"

"My attack"—she lifted her sword with one hand—"did not utilize air."

The sword came down. Emi braced her uninjured hand, which still held onto her zanpakuto like a tightly screwed vise, and clashed their blades together. The attack was blocked . . . but Emi still got slashed.

And, almost like an afterthought, Orihime murmured, "It uses light."

Light. Tangible but relatively harmless. Yet . . .

"I see," Emi muttered, searing heat showering her back like a bucket of lava. "You manifested the light in this place, intensifying its properties to something sharp and deadly."

"Light manipulation. That is my shikai."

Emi's knees buckled. She could not find the strength to rise back up. But despite knowing what was to come, the end to her plans for assuming direct control over the physical vessel, she managed to smile. "Who are you and what have you done to princess?"

Orihime didn't smile. If anything, she felt sick, especially knowing what had to be done. "She," she said before pausing and swallowing the lump in her throat, "her hand was forced. This was the only path."

"Do you really believe that?"

Orihime said nothing.

"Just do it already, princess. That look in your face is making me puke."

* * *

Orihime blacked out after that. She was unsure of what happened between her and Emi, but she was certain that the fight for dominance would continue. Her alter-ego was merely incapacitated, if a word actually existed for an entity like her. Maybe incapacitated wasn't a proper word for her state. Dormant, she guessed. Or even comatose. Either way, for the moment Orihime was in complete control of herself.

As her consciousness rouse from its comfortable slumber, her senses realized she was lying on something soft and warm, and the quiet permeating around her released more of tranquility than confusion. Her eyes fluttered open and she recognized the ceiling. She tried to speak out but her voice came out dry and raspy, barely audible. And though she just woke up with no idea of how long she had been out, she felt exhausted and wanted to sleep again.

She changed her position for something more comfortable. Before she closed her eyes, a whole head of orange hair, which was more vibrant and lighter than her own, came to view.

_Kurosaki-kun . . ._

He was lying in a futon, fast asleep. The ever-present scowl on his face was gone; she couldn't help noting that his face was more serene and content without it. She watched him, the rise and fall of his chest. She listened to his light snores, rhythmic and alive, almost soothing. She reached out for him, wanting to wish and believe that this was no dream, that she had succeeded in her ordeal and was recuperating inside the Urahara Shouten next to the person that meant the world to her. That she was not weak, that she really could be of help to Ichigo.

The gap between their respective futon was too long. All she wanted was to touch him for reassurance. Exhaustion took a backseat as she willed her sore limbs to scoot closer to the sleeping man. She felt the edges of her futon, then the edges of Ichigo's, and she still kept moving. Rationality had somehow taken a backseat as well, because it seemed Orihime was no longer content with reassurance alone. A single touch would not help ease all the fears and worries that built up in her heart.

Her mind flashed to a time when she did something like this before, to a time when everything was simpler than now and the only worries she had were her grades and the occasional bullying. There was her Onii-chan, smiling gently at her, even after waking his sleep because she had a nightmare. "Come here," he had said, lifting his blanket and scooting to the opposite end of the bed so she could have space to lie with him. She remembered him singing a beautiful lullaby, despite Sora being tone-deaf, and she instantly was out like a light.

She remembered that feeling, remembered that warmth as she snuggled closer to him, remembered that no nightmares came whenever she slept close to him.

And when she snuggled her body next to Ichigo like an embrace from a lover, albeit semiconsciously, it was the same as when she was with her brother. No worries, no fears, no nightmares.

Even when the sandman had already pulled her to the land of dreams, her lips formed a joyful smile.

* * *

**Chapter Afterword:**

I will admit, the climax of this chapter felt like a deus ex machina. I couldn't help it, though. That was just how I envisioned things would go, and at least it stuck to the same old Bleach formula: Be outmatched, be given some kind of revelation/epiphany alongside an incredible power-up, be the top dog because you can now kick the living shit out of your enemies. My excuse? I'm being a little too loyal to the standards of Bleach, although the latest arc in the manga pales in comparison to when Aizen was the antagonist. But at least this final arc has a _Deathly Hallows_ feel to it—the stakes are at their highest and anyone can die here. **Plot Armor** is no longer a universal effect for all the good guys.


	33. Back in Black Back to Basics

Date written: 27/08/12 – 09/09/12

Posted on FanFiction: 12/09/12

A/N: Here comes the next update. Due to uncontrollable circumstances on my end, I can't update my fics as fast as I can years ago. There won't be actual spare time for me until December, which is saddening.

Anyway, here's a relatively short denouement of the training arc. My original plans, like in the previous chapter, aimed much higher—in epicness, humor, and length—but it didn't go as I planned it to be. During the years between my sudden and unexpected hiatus, I had come to realize that I hate training sessions, be it reading or writing them. Naruto fanfics with one chapter dedicated to his training? Let me skim through that for you. Same with Bleach. Most of the 'training' I've read from before this epiphany was, all in all, the worst kind of training sessions I've read. It just got ingrained into my head at some point. I can't control. That does not mean, of course, that I'll be skipping training sessions from here on out; this just means that I won't be _emphasizing_ them as much as I did back then. You'll still get to see the fruits of the characters' labors, but at a reduced word count.

Next chapter will be the last of this current arc and marks the beginning of the Soul Society arc. I'll see you when I see you, guys.

* * *

–– **CHAPTER 33 ––**

**Back in Black/Back to Basics**

Ichigo uttered a groan that seemed to have come from the deepest depths of his stomach, growling out of his lips as if he had swallowed a still writhing beast. He scrunched his eyes before opening them slowly. They espied a ceiling he somehow recalled seeing days ago: a clean white paint finish brightened by a sole light source dangling at the center of the square room, the string lightswitch adorned with a skull keychain which looked more in place strapped to either a cellphone or keyring than where it was now.

There was barely any feeling in his limbs, but he was at least glad of his achievements before exhaustion forced his body to rejuvenate and his mind to sleep inside a dreamless land. Dreamless, it was, and he was certain he had rested as if he were in eternal peace.

_Requiescat in pace, huh? Screw that._

He had regained his shinigami powers and acknowledged the spirit of his zanpakuto, Zangetsu. Power was once more in his hand, the power to save, the power to protect. Three days had already passed. Seven days more. He needed to get stronger within that time limit.

When the numbness had receded enough for him to move about without much difficulty, he tried sitting up except his attempts did not bear fruit. Something was holding him down on the futon on which he lay, and in consequence, his mind contemplated a sickening thought about that shaggy blond strapping him there for his own sick amusement. Ichigo really hoped he hadn't been out long. He was in the middle of grumbling out profanities pertaining to his trainer's brain capacity and then his rectum, while pulling away the blanket so he could get a better look at what was pressing him down.

All thoughts left his brain. Except for one: _sexy_. Gripping onto his waist was Orihime. He couldn't process anything else properly.

Almost like it were timed to Ichigo's awareness—in other words, flinching—Orihime moaned and snuggled closer to him. The spot between his chest and stomach was feeling two mounds that were as soft as marshmallows. He blushed like it was the only place his blood would go, and with the discipline of a faithful but secretly lecherous monk, he tried to disentangle from the girl's embrace while a part of him enjoyed not just the feeling but also the view. Her face was leaning on his chest, her short steady breasts—_breaths_, he meant breaths—tingling his skin and fuelling his imagination with hormonal fantasies. He had to stay strong, in control. This was Orihime! If he touched her inappropriately he'd be summoning the blind wrath of Tatsuki if word ever got to her. Not to mention what kind of trauma he'd instill on the innocent girl here.

So with trembling fingers, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her a foot away. Her embrace locked him there, though. It would take a bit more maneuvering to slip out, all while making sure Orihime didn't wake up from the moving and repositioning.

He didn't account for her being very clingy when in bed. The gap between disappeared faster than when it was made, and so as not to initiate a repeat, Orihime embraced him tighter, her moist lips dragging across his chest, her bountiful marshmallows squeezing and spreading as if they were about to pop.

Ichigo uttered another groan, this one more ambiguous, split between pleasure and aggravation. He took many deep breasts—_breaths dammit!_—anything to calm the presto tempo of his heart, its beats enacting force equivalent to a jackhammer in his chest.

Things couldn't get any worse, he thought.

"Uwa," Jinta said in awe, "we have ourselves a lecher."

Surprised, Ichigo turned towards the door and saw the two kids looking at them and their embrace. Ururu's blush was more profound. She was also trembling either out of embarrassment or nervousness. Most likely both.

"H-How long were you two . . .?" Ichigo questioned.

"I don't know." The redheaded boy shrugged. "We just came to check on you guys. I know Orihime-chan is hot and all, but even I would've shown some restraint. Show some respect, pervy-berry."

"This isn't what it looks like!"

"Harururu," Ururu squealed, her blush deepening. "A hug between lovers. How romantic and embarrassing at the same time. I don't know which to feel!"

"I doubt this has mutual consent, Ururu," Jinta opined.

She didn't listen, continued rambling, with both hands grabbing her cheeks. "I-I-Is this what Yoruichi-san calls 'spooning?'"

"Wait! It's not what it looks like," Ichigo repeated.

The commotion escalated like the volume of their voices. It would've been enough to awaken a normal person, but Orihime looked like she paid little heed to the noise surrounding her. Little heed, however, was different from no heed.

Ichigo heard her groan a little, snuggled even closer, and murmured, "Stop it, Kurosaki-kun, stop eating me."

It stopped the angry retort he was about to release. Now there was only silence from both parties. He looked from the snuggling girl to the kids with dumbfounded expressions.

Ururu's whole head had turned red that he wouldn't be surprised if steam started whistling out of her ears. And Jinta . . . well, he got that look in his face after the shock wore off, the kind of look Ichigo was certain he'd never like on any guy's face.

"Dude," Jinta said, prolonging the last syllable and shaking his head. "How low can you get?"

"C-C-Consummation!" Ururu yelped. "I need to tell Urahara-san."

"Let me help you with that."

"Hey, wait, stop!"

It was too late to explain anything; Jinta and Ururu already slid the door closed at their leave. Ichigo wanted nothing more than to get up, get out, and deliver a strong punch onto the boy's insolent head and clear up the misunderstanding to Ururu. Why he'd resort to violence to a boy and gentleness to a girl was merely a matter of principle for Ichigo. He only had experience with little sisters not brothers after all. But as much as he wished to bring both violence and explanation to the kids, it would mean disturbing Orihime's sleep. He wanted to avoid an awkward greeting in the morning at all costs. But she wouldn't be sleeping forever and it was important to slither out of her tight grip like a slippery snake.

"Kids these days," a gruff voice said.

Ichigo's gaze instinctively returned to the door, only to see it closed and untouched.

"You would think the two of you will show restraint while under someone else's roof."

He shifted his gaze, expanding his search everywhere. He eventually caught sight of a black cat perching on the windowsill, its tail wagging left to right, almost giddy of something, although its face looked more solemn and serious. And . . . he just characterized a cat with human expressions. He must be more out of it than he thought. He'd admit that animals like cats have feelings and moods too, but there was no way for them to mimic human expression, much less be easily readable by a human. It was not as if—

"I may have misunderstood the situation, though," the cat said. "Nothing happened other than you two sleeping, right, Ichigo?"

The cat talked. A cat just talked. Moved its mouth, rolled its tongue, mimicked human speech. It didn't look shocked at all that it was destroying the natural order of the world. Cats do not talk, period.

"Hey! Listen to me when I'm talking to you, brat."

Was there a ventriloquist nearby? Was Urahara-san playing a very sick joke on him? No, wait, then how was the cat able to lip-sync with every word said?

The cat leaped down from its perch and approached him. Its movements were graceful. Natural. Were robotic pets that advanced? He was unsure, but Urahara-san had created a vast battlefield in his basement, breaking dozens of physics laws in the process. Was an artificial domestic feline too complicated for him to build?

"Aaaah!" The cat jumped back after he grabbed it by the tail. "What the hell are you doing?" And it retaliated by headbutting his chin. It hurt.

Scratch the "I must be dreaming" theory then. Also scratch robot. The tail was definitely organic and the animal's pained yelp when he strongly squeezed proved that it could feel like an actual feline.

Which left the only possible explanation.

"A CAT JUST TALKED!"

Ichigo entered full panic mode, pointing an accusing finger at the black cat. Maybe it was magic or something. Yeah, yeah, that was quite possible, staying organic while able to talk. There was that old American teen show he had watched by chance through channel surfing when he was a kid. Something about a teenaged witch living with her two aunts with rhyming names who were also witches, and joining them was this charming black cat with a low voice reminiscent to the voice coming out of this feline's mouth. It . . . it couldn't be, could it?

He'd believe shinigami, Soul Society, Hell, Quin-something like Ishida, and even Hollows, but witches and warlocks?

"That's crossing the line!"

"What line?" It asked, its tail wagging as if it were amused, and judging by how readable its face was, it exhibited a happy face as well. This was probably the first and only cat he'd ever see smirking.

"There's no freaking way a cat can talk!"

"Yet," the cat retorted, sounding nonchalant, and if it had wide arms, it would've gestured to the surrounding in general, "here we are."

Then a groan from under him brought a pause to his heart. She was still wrapping her arms around him as she yawned cutely to the side, opening and closing her droopy gray-colored eyes. Her half-asleep state wouldn't last forever, and he should've acted at that point, maneuvering his body out of her reach and skidding to the far end of the room. Instead he stayed where he was, torn between escaping and watching the steps of how this girl switch from drowsy to active in less than a minute. Where her eyes observed his close proximity, then to where her arms were.

To his credit—and ears—Orihime didn't scream or yell pervert or even deliver a slap to his face as punishment for some wrong created from woman logic. Contrast to what she'd do, Orihime unwrapped her arms, rolled away, and sat up with her back facing him. She was undoubtedly clutching her face with her hands. He couldn't really explain how he knew that, especially when he couldn't see the girl's front; he just knew somehow.

"Inoue?" he said, going through the mental motions of ignoring the elephant in the room—which meant forgetting all about a cat in their vicinity and that it actually talked, _talked_, like a human. "Inoue, are you . . ." He stopped himself from sounding like an idiot. Of course she wasn't all right. She woke up hugging a guy. A guy who was her friend, yes, but her naturally shy personality made it hard to grasp the idea without it . . . without it . . . well, he had no idea how she would properly react other than his stereotypical idea which was spawned from reading too much manga with violent women in them. He should've known better than to complement Orihime with violence, but with all that had happened since her brother attacked her, she began to change in very subtle ways. He didn't take notice of it right away because they weren't as close then as they were now, so it was like trying to find changes in a picture without reference to its original state. Plus his suspicions only came to be because they were actually backed up by Tatsuki, who knew her far longer than he did.

Orihime took a deep breath before about-facing and then stammering out, "It's fine. It's my fault to begin with. Sorry." She finished it off with disarming laughter, laughter racked with nervousness as well.

He knew Orihime enough to know if she's nervous about something. She really was trying to keep a strong front, but her attempts were less than impressive. Changing the subject was probably the best course of action. To keep the subject on her or to call on her obvious lie would not sit well, his gut told him, but he was neither listening nor obeying its advice. There were times where he trusted his heart more than his gut, and his heart yearned for clarity, for the blanks left behind by her abrupt statements. He wanted to help his friend in any way possible.

"What do you mean it's your fault?"

Her cheeks bloomed with the color of a rose and she avoided looking at him. "Um, well . . ."

"Come on, Inoue, it's not as if you hurt me or anything." A small part of him even liked the feeling of her in his arms, but he kept that to himself.

"B-But still . . ." She gulped. "I hugged you in your sleep."

Now his cheeks got infected with rose red. He didn't need to look in a mirror to figure that out. "Don't worry about it."

He wanted to hit himself. Of all the things he could've said . . .

"I promise it won't happen again." Orihime waved her hands frantically in front of her. "I'll even sleep at the far end of the room if you want."

"Inoue . . ."

"Or I can ask Urahara-san if he has another spare room I can use—"

"It's okay."

"Eh?"

"No one's hurt. No one's in danger." He neared her, close enough to grab her wrists—which he idly noted were slender and soft—and position them back to her sides. "It's nothing big, okay? Let's just . . . put it behind us."

"But I—"

He lifted her hands an inch and pushed them down, wanting to deliver finality, wanting to have the last word of this argument.

"No buts." He took a breath, expecting some bit of wisdom to channel through an impromptu speech after the pause but suddenly realizing midway that wisdom, any kind of wisdom, was not forthcoming at the moment. "No buts," he repeated. Sometimes life gives you lemons to make lemonade, sometimes it doesn't.

She avoided his gaze again, keeping silent and looking at the tatami mat floor. She did, however, give a response: a subdued nod alongside an agreeing grunt that sounded like "Oom."

Ichigo nodded as well, despite being out of her sight, but that was all right.

"Quite a touching scene," a gruff voice said, breaking the silence. It was the cat. "Reminds me of a teen romance movie from the 80s."

The teens in question realized their prolonged closeness and swiftly detached from each other, neither wanting to look at the other right now.

"Wait," Ichigo said, and looked back at Orihime, embarrassment forgotten, "you heard it talk, right? The cat talked, right? I'm not crazy, right?"

Orihime, at first, failed to see the importance of his questions, but one look at the thing chipping his sanity bit by bit was what she needed. "Of course you aren't crazy. That's just Yoruichi-san."

He waited for an elaboration. He didn't get it. "And?"

"And what?"

"A cat is talking, Inoue. Talking! That's just not right."

"But Yoruichi-san is no ordinary cat."

"That's correct, Orihime-san," Urahara said as he entered the room. "Yoruichi-san cannot be Yoruichi-san without a few surprises."

"I live for giving people surprises," the cat added. "And for pranks."

Was this one of them? He had to wonder.

"Now that you are both awake"—Urahara opened his fan, which he then used to cover his mouth—"we will proceed with the final phase."

Ichigo took more than a moment to process that, long enough to see Orihime suddenly paling. "Are you saying we're not done yet?" he asked, trying and succeeding in keeping his voice calm and hitch-free. He also succeeded in staying his hand, lest it ended up breaking the asshole's nose. He already regained his shinigami powers. What more did he want?

"Why, yes," the shaggy blond replied immediately, "the most important phase of all. It has been over seventeen hours since Tessai placed you, Kurosaki-san, in the futon. It's already the morning of the fourth day, so that means . . ."

Urahara closed his fan, and his face, solemn and withdrawn, gazed upon both teens in tense silence. Ichigo didn't say a word, but there was no doubt a thick air of tension permeating the place almost instantly.

"It's . . ." Urahara paused again, keeping the solemnity in his face and tone. "It's time to eat lunch!"

Ichigo broke his nose. And everyone, except for Orihime, agreed he deserved that.

* * *

Orihime set down her chopsticks and offered a quick prayer with the words, "Goshuushou-sama."

Jinta and Ururu, who finished their lunch at the same time as her, mimicked her thanks. Orihime smiled; Urahara had certainly taught them well, especially when giving thanks after a meal.

The three men had already finished with their own meals and were merely waiting for her so they could begin a quick debriefing before tackling the main training regime they'd endure for today and the next six days. Yoruichi and Urahara had said as much at the start of the meal, prompting Ichigo to dive into his food like a man who hadn't eaten in three days. Considering that both of them immediately retired to sleep after the 3-day onslaught—though in truth, hers spanned for only two days but there was no need to fret over the details—maybe it wasn't so far off from the truth. It left her wondering which of the reasons had prioritized her crush's gusto in eating.

"So," Ichigo said, his face serious, posture straight, "when do we start?"

"In an hour," Urahara said without any trace of a change in pitch from his broken nose, which shouldn't be an issue since Orihime had healed it before they started lunch. "It should be enough time to digest the food."

Orihime raised her arm like a student. "Urahara-san, a question."

"Yes?"

"How are you going to teach us?"

"You'll see. But I can divulge one tidbit about what I have planned. It won't be any kind of fighting style."

"If it's not about fighting, then what exactly are you going to teach us then?"

"Oh, I didn't say it's not about fighting. It's just not about style." His face turned solemn again. "I'll be blunt with you two. One week is not enough time to teach you any fighting style. This isn't some shounen manga after all. Instead we have to compensate with the main weakness your enemy will undoubtedly center on."

"What weakness?" Ichigo asked.

"You'll be facing people who had been fighting Hollows and perfecting their techniques for decades at least. You two only had about a month under your belt." His gaze directed to Ichigo. "You've seen the superiority of a captain firsthand. Teaching you some style would not give you any kind of advantage." He held up a hand when Ichigo was about to say something. "This is why I have to prioritize on your inexperience. For the next seven days I'll be drilling into you how to fight, how to dodge, how to counter. Basically, I'll be teaching you how to _survive_."

Ichigo said nothing back. His face contorted as if he swallowed something nasty. But he was not about to back down.

She asked their teacher another question: "What about our shikai?"

"I cannot help you with that. Refining your shikai and its abilities is solely up to you. I can only give you pointers."

"So we're on our own." She honestly didn't know what to feel about that.

"Not precisely," Yoruichi countered, sitting next to Urahara. She might be in cat form right now, but she still ate at the table. It unnerved Ichigo somehow, though she couldn't understand why this was so. "You'll be learning from your zanpakuto. They know more about your abilities than you do."

"So how do we talk with them?" Ichigo asked.

"Meditation." Urahara opened his fan. "But right now, I want you two to rest before we train."

"And make the most of it," Yoruichi added. "There won't be any breaks once it starts."

* * *

They were forced to split, Ichigo with Urahara, and she with Yoruichi. The two adults had agreed on this one-on-one training session from the get-go to ensure little distraction and complete concentration. At least that was what Yoruichi said when she asked the specifics of the arrangement. Her opinion was worthless, seeing that the teachers knew better than her about fighting and training, so she silenced her desire to train alongside Ichigo. It wasn't as if it'd be the end of the world. He'd still be here in Urahara Shop's basement with her, out of sight, yes, but not out of mind or feeling.

His presence had grown immensely since she last sensed him, as if the turbulent flow of his reiatsu had found a small conduit to regulate a bit of the ferocious pressure. No doubt it was because of his shikai, which she noted to have remained activated since he released it. She hadn't asked him why it was like that, but she could wager a guess or two.

Like his zanpakuto refusing to revert to its former, bulky, ugly form. It felt more comfortable in its new form, after all. More space to stretch (the blade thicker and more elongated). No hilt to constrict it, like a bra two sizes too short that one could barely breathe (she idly noted that her breasts were still growing; she had to buy a few new bras last week). And a more breathable and cool-looking scabbard in the form of bandages. Yeah, if she were a zanpakuto, she'd also refuse going back to something completely hideous in both appearance and practicality.

When she and Yoruichi had found a decent place for their training, the cat reverted to her lady form, birthday suit and all. Thankfully, she had thought ahead and asked Ururu to give her a some clothes to bring along. She gave this to Yoruichi while averting her gaze.

"Relax a little, Orihime. We're both girls here."

"Yes, I know, but still . . ."

"You didn't have problems when you and that Tatsuki girl went into an open bath."

"How did you know about that?!" That had been during their middle school years on a winter break vacation to a renowned onsen in rural Hokkaido. It was also the embarrassing incident where Tatsuki expressed her utter envy for her developing bosom. She'd rather not think about the incessant groping she had done afterwards.

"I didn't." She grinned like the Cheshire cat from Wonderland. "Now I do."

"Eh? What do you—"

"Took a shot at the dark; got a bull's eye."

"Ah! You tricked me." Not once did Orihime turn around or dare take a look at the tanned woman. Her ears caught no rustle of clothes, and that was enough evidence for her to draw a conclusion. _But what if she puts on clothes stealthily like a ninja?_ she asked herself. It was easy to think of her as someone akin to a ninja.

Yoruichi said, "I'm decent. You can look now."

True to her word, she _was_ decent, if barely. The clothes Ururu provided were okay; they were just tight around the chest area. Tight enough for the catwoman to disregard the three top buttons on the white button-up shirt, thus exposing an enticing amount of cleavage.

"Uh . . ."

"My eyes are up here, Orihime."

Caught unintentionally peeping yet again, Orihime bowed her head. "I'm sorry!"

For some reason, Yoruichi laughed wholeheartedly. "Where did this happen before, I wonder?"

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to look."

"And I'm okay with it."

"Eh?"

"Oh come on, girl. I've been going around in the world _naked_ for the past century. Besides, if you got it, I say flaunt it!"

"B-But that was you in your cat form."

"Only when people are around." She gave her a sultry grin. "You should try it sometime. It feels . . . liberal, you know."

"Uh, I think I'll pass." Just thinking about it made her cheeks hot as boiling water.

"There was this one time on a nudist's beach—"

"Shouldn't we get to training, ma'am?"

She kept up the sultry grin, but at least she stopped, to Orihime's relief. "All right, then." Yoruichi rubbed her hands together. "While Kisuke believes pure brawn can get Ichigo out of any problem Soul Society'll sic him with, the same cannot be said for you."

"Is it because I'm weak?"

"It's because you're more timid than your boyfriend."

"Oh?" It took her three whole seconds to process the whole thing. "Eh?! Wait, Kurosaki-kun's not my boyfriend."

"Maybe not now, anyway."

Speechlessness compounded with a blooming blush.

"Joking aside, while Ichigo can go for muscle, you can go for knowledge."

"What kind of knowledge?"

"Oh, there's plenty for you to learn, but very little time to get them all. Souls are required to attend the Shinigami Academy before becoming actual shinigami. That means years of learning, although I've heard of one student graduating from there in just one year.

"We only have one week to whip you two up. That either makes us desperate or kickass teachers." Yoruichi held up one hand, the other hand supporting it by its elbow. "There's kidou, hakuda, zanjutsu, and hohou." She raised a finger for each subject. "I'll do what I can to cram everything up for you."

"So which one first?"

"I'll let you decide."

She asked Yoruichi for clarification of the different subjects, and though she could benefit with a little more kidou training, she believed one other subject will benefit her more. Hohou, the subject matter of the shunpo. If there was one thing she learned from her inner battles between Amaterasu and then Emi, it was that she could need work in improving her speed. Her natural sword technique required speed, to which she already had but like what Tatsuki often said during her karate lessons, there's always room for improvement.

She could compensate hakuda with her karate skills—skills Tatsuki boasted to be about black belt level—and zanjutsu with instinctual grace that kept coming to her whenever there was a fight, as if the art of swordplay had been ingrained into her since she held a zanpakuto. Kidou, she realized, would require time to cast and from the brief explanations she heard from the two teachers, their opponents were not the kind to stand idly by as she cast them.

That left hohou as uncharted territory for her. There was the occasional burst of speed, but they were always out of her control, done through desperation and a whole lot of luck, the kind of things she shouldn't rely on in every fight. She needed control over it, must find the means to quickened her movements with a conscious mental command.

"Hohou," she declared. No doubt, no hesitation.

Yoruichi just nodded at her choice, though Orihime noticed the wide smile on her face.

And so for the next eight hours, she was drilled without mercy or pulled punches. She was okay with that, or rather she welcomed it. They were going on borrowed time and every second had to count in training.

She didn't want to look weak in front of Ichigo. Not anymore.

Not anymore.


End file.
